


Advent '12

by demon_sloth



Series: Advent [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Character Death, Fate, Incest, Multi, Pining, Requited Love, Slash, Soulmates, Unrequited Love, War, i'll add more later, this isn't about the romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 35,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demon_sloth/pseuds/demon_sloth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wolves have returned to the North and war rides hard on their heels. Harry should have kept his fool mouth shut, he's again embroiled in politics and death when all he wanted was to protect his family, search for the souls of his fallen friends and pine from a distance. Fate has a new path for him to tread and one thing is for certain: Winter is coming. /AU Game of Thrones/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I have no idea what I'm doing. I literally thought of this yesterday. I apologise for nothing.

~*~

Spoilers: (books) Harry Potter 1-7 and A Game of Thrones

~*~

The holding was small enough and of no strategic importance that the walls that surrounded it had long since crumbled to something useless. The surrounding trees, once kept back with axe and flame, had been allowed to creep close over the years until they pressed against the backs of the stone cottages.

Harry could remember a time when this would have been unthinkable. When life was prised tooth and claw from the very grasp of winter itself.

Though he could also remember when the Seven Kingdom's were seven kingdoms, and when Brandon the Builder was only contemplating a wall to save the people from the horrors of the northern wasteland.

Harry snorted and nosed at the last vestiges of defence – a line of rocky mounds that would not trouble Rickon, let alone anything else – and wondered how it had come to this. At least it allowed him enough cover to follow his charges without being seen. Complacent the summer may have made the people, but a wolf taller than a man stood high tended to bring out the panic wherever he went.

Travelling as a man on horseback would allow him a certain amount of anonymity, but he was faster and had a greater range of his senses in his animagus form.

In this instance, the benefits vastly outweighed the drawbacks.

The wind shifted, crisp and fresh it was a constant reminder that although the sky was clear, snow was never far from falling. The party's horses whickered uneasily as they stood in the square, catching his scent and dragging Harry's attention back to the present.

Ned's head snapped up at the sound, his gaze sliding along the line of trees. At this distance Harry could pick out the colour of his eyes and yet knew with certainty that Ned would not be able to spot him. Indeed, Ned's gaze passed over Harry's position like he was no more than shadows on snow.

The breeze lifted again, this time strong enough to tug at the strands of Harry's fur. He could see the horses begin to panic – ears flicking back and the whites of their eyes starting to show – desperately trying to pinpoint the predator that lurked just out of their sight.

This time Ned frowned and fully turned his attention away from the man he was questioning.

 _Foolish._ Harry cursed himself as he carefully padded his way through the forest, heading downwind of the volatile animals. It would not do to cause them to bolt, especially as young Bran was among them.

Downwind he was safer, the horses settling under the calming hands of their riders. He settled as Ned returned to the king's justice, tensing only slightly as Ned drew his sword from its sheath. He didn't look away as Ned brought the blade down onto the neck of the condemned man, nor did he flinch. Once he would have fought against such a practise, but he was old and tired. The millennia had worn down his morals, and the centuries of war had hardened him.

What was his judgement compared to the judgement of another's? If there was one thing he had learnt it was that he was only a man and a man can only do what he can to keep his loved ones safe.

After his affair with Brandon and their bond forged over ice and fire during the war against the Others, that included the man's descendants. In return, the Starks provided him with a place to call home whenever he felt the need to subject himself to humanity once again. It was a winning position for both sides.

There was a reason the Starks used his animagus form as their banner.

The smell of fresh blood caught him unawares and he barely restrained the growl that vibrated in his chest. His sense of smell sharpened as his hunger spiked at the promise of fresh meat. He shook his head, dragging his thoughts away from the wolf instinct to claim and tear, to feast and sate.

He had been too long in his animal form. Three straight years of wandering the wilderness north of the wall, watching the Night Watch as they patrolled the last remaining defence.

The Others were stirring. And with Ned safely ensconced in his castle, Harry had done the only thing he could – and if truth be told, he wanted – and had followed Benjen back north after Rickon's naming day celebrations.

The man hadn't even known he was there.

Harry slunk back into the darker shadows of the forest as Theon's laughter echoed around the square. He felt inordinately proud of young Bran. Not yet eight and he hadn't faltered at the sight before him.

 _Though I think Jon had something to do with that._ He admitted to himself.

Whatever Lady Catelyn may think of Ned's bastard child, Jon was a Stark true enough and fell under Harry's protection.

Woe betide any who wish ill on the wolves of the north.

~*~

The ground was covered in patches of snow, the ground frost-bitten and hard beneath his claws. Harry made sure he was well back of the horses as he followed the party back to Winterfell. It was hard going. He was faster than the horses, they having to carefully pick their way between patches of ice and hidden stones. It had been a long time since he'd been home. Not since the last of Ned's brood had been born squalling into this world.

He doubted whether any of the younger ones would recognise him.

Mind, he had barely stayed since Lyanna had passed. Dear, sweet, headstrong Lyanna. If there was any chance Ginny's soul had followed he would have thought her reincarnated. But in all the years he'd survived he'd never met her again – only those few souls that refused to leave him alone.

Nonetheless he was looking forward to walk through the gates of Winterfell. It would be nice to stroll through the corridors once again, to sit and be welcomed back at the dining hall. Harry doubted whether much had changed, despite being under the control of a Tully woman.

If only there was reason for celebration. Enough to draw all the Stark men home.

The sentiment was foolish, perhaps, but Harry still wished for it anyway.

There was a shout from up ahead. Harry tensed and pricked his ears forward, straining to catch anything of the conversations and excited teasing. Then he caught it, the scent of death and old blood. He recoiled, scrubbing his nose against his foreleg to try and rid himself of the stench.

Whatever had died had done so in pain and in fear, and while this would normally be enough to get his blood pumping, there was something about it that struck to close to home. Something that called out to him.

The voices rose in volume and Harry didn't even realise that he'd taken two steps out of the treeline until Ned's eyes locked onto his own. Harry didn't have long to worry about being spotted, as Ned turned back to his sons and the _dire wolf pups they were holding._

 _Oh._ Harry thought. _Oh, dear. Well that's going to complicate things a little._

Taking advantage of the distraction, Harry padded his way back into the shadows of the forest. They were almost home, enough that he felt it acceptable to leave them to journey ahead. It would not do to arrive at the same time as Ned and his sons, especially with no means of travel. He wouldn't be able to come up with a satisfactory reason as to why none of the patrols had spotted him. Besides, he needed to think.

The party eventually picked up where they left off, Ned chiding his sons along until they were heading for home once again. Harry watched them go.

The wolves had returned to Winterfell and the summer snows had not even begun to melt.

_Winter is coming._


	2. Chapter 2

Harry waited in the woods until even his vastly superior hearing couldn't pick up any sign of the departing party. Only then did he move, stretching out the muscles in his back that had stiffened from disuse in the cold climate.

There was no one around for miles, so Harry felt justified in trotting over to the carcass that had his nose wrinkling. It was a large dire wolf bitch, not surprising after the discovery the Stark children had made. She'd been dead for a while. _That_ was surprising considering the pups seemed in a relatively healthy condition.

It was something to add to the growing unease settling low in his stomach.

He shifted his weight, pushing himself up onto his hind legs as he transformed back to his human form. It took longer than usual, the time stretching out until he swore he could feel every joint pop and grind. Aching, he swayed on his feet.

 _Next time I won't spend three straight years like that_ , he swore.

The wind was a lot colder now, which Harry put down to his lack of fur. Shivering, he drew his grey cloak tighter around his shoulders. The felt smelt musty, a side effect of not changing back to wash or air the material.

 _At least it's relatively clean_ , he thought, flicking up the hood to protect his ears against the cold air.

A quick inventory of his person had him confirming that nothing had mysteriously disappeared. Not that he had honestly expected it to, but magic was a tricky mistress make no mistake and he didn't want to take the chance. What he managed to salvage from his life was precious to him. Of his previous life he owned only a few objects: his holly wand, Slytherin's locket and the deathly hallows made three.

Each was precious to him in its own way, each reminding him of something lost or overcome. His wand he refused to leave behind on reason of sentimentality. The phoenix core keeping the wood alive long after all other wands had petrified and shattered over time.

The locket served a duel purpose, whilst obviously a testament to all he overcame and a warning, it was also a link to his Potter ancestry – being related to the Slytherin line – and a reminder that family doesn't decide the person you choose to be.

The deathly hallows, on the other hand, were the reason he was stuck here. Time refused to touch him after he accepted his mastery over the elder wand. Instead he was forced to watch his friends and family age and wither before his eyes, eventually succumbing gracefully to death. Most of them passed on, joining their loved ones who had left the earth before them. But some stayed. Ron, Hermione and Luna refused to leave him alone, choosing instead to be reincarnated over and over again.

It wasn't the same. They had no memories of their previous lives. Instead Harry was left scouring the world, trying to find them. Sometimes he managed it fairly early on and sometimes they had only hours together. But each time they died and Harry begged them to pass over, they refused.

One thing was for certain, they all gravitated to one another, and Harry had, by complete coincidence, been present for the rebirth of Hermione.

The thought of her brought a smile to his face. She had turned out so different from the girl he knew and the woman he missed, but he wouldn't interfere or try to influence her in any way. This was her life to live as she saw fit, not to modify to acquiesce to the morals of a person long since passed. Though he was curious as to how she had changed in his absence.

 _Well, I'm not going to find out anything by standing here._ He turned northwards and started the slow journey to Winterfell and home.

~*~

Harry didn't reach Winterfell until nightfall. His cloak had kept the worst of the weather from bothering him and as he had not come across any other travellers, he had no need to activate its shielding properties. So it was with complete visibility that he walked past the guards scouting the perimeter.

They were supposed to be hidden, but it had been a long time since someone had been able to hide their presence so completely that he couldn't spot them. They didn't try to stop or challenge him either, another mark against the lax attitudes that summer brought with it.

One day these men would be awakened to the brutal reality of winter, and Harry mourned for what they would become.

It didn't take long from the first guard disappearing off to warn of his arrival, for Harry to crest the hill. Winterfell sat before him, a monolith of black stone silhouetted against the pinks and oranges of the evening sky. At this distance he couldn't pick out individuals patrolling the walls and gateway, but the tower windows were lit, promising heat and cosy familiarity to his world-weary soul.

It was magnificent.

Faded memories of Hogwarts bore down on him, bittersweet and fond, and Harry took the time to truly appreciate what he had now before carrying on.

Ned was there to greet him as he was let through the gates, standing in the middle of the courtyard and unconcerned by the glances the guards and servants were giving him.

Harry dropped his hood as he strode forwards and enveloped the man in a hug, feeling a hard knot in the middle of his chest release when Ned's arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Eventually Ned pulled back, keeping his hands on Harry's shoulders as if he wasn't sure that Harry would disappear completely if he let go.

"Harry, it's been too long."

A statement and a rebuke. Harry allowed himself a small smile. "I know, but I'm here now. Isn't that enough?"

A frown played across Ned's face before he let out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Aye, I suppose it will have to be." He moved back towards the front door, his arm around Harry's shoulder guiding him along. "The children missed you."

Inside was warm, a combination of torches and the hot water travelling through the hollowed walls, and softly illuminated. Harry shot a sly look up at Ned, though the man was staring straight ahead and missed it completely. "Just the children?"

The corners of Ned's lips twitched. "And myself," he conceded, "though I think Old Nan still has a soft spot for you too. She's been telling the children stories again."

The concession surprised a bark of laughter from Harry. "And do they know it's me that she speaks of? Or does she wrap them in tales from the Age of Heroes?"

The smile slipped from Ned's face. "One day they will know of your plight," he vowed. "They will know who you are and what you mean to our House."

"But not yet." Harry said sternly. "While I cannot die, I would not put the burden of knowledge onto their shoulders just yet. Though I suspect your Lady wife may have some suspicions."

"Catelyn, yes," Ned conceded, "but you must understand, she wished to know why a boy of seventeen, present for the birth of her first son, could have the same appearance eleven years later for the birth of her last. I owed her an explanation. I did not think—"

"Ned," Harry gently cut across the justification, "I understand and agree with your decision. Do not worry yourself needlessly over things that have already happened. That way lays grief and madness."

Ned nodded, pushing open the door to his private study. It was situated in the oldest part of the castle, buried deep in Winterfell. It had neither fireplace nor windows, but the water running through the veins of the fortress kept the room comfortably warm. Ned had hung up a myriad of tapestries and hangings to bring colour to the place.

Something hard lodged in the base of Harry's throat at the sight. No matter how many times he entered this room, and for how many Lords, this was and always will be the heart of the North. The room that Brandon and he planned out strategies against the Others, the room in which he gave himself completely, the room in which Brandon swore that he would not be left alone; that he would follow Harry even after death had parted them.

_Dire times bring out bold promises._

"You are right, as usual," Ned said, collapsing into one of the softer chairs to the side of the desk and placing a hand over his eyes.

Harry followed his example, sitting on the opposite chair with a little more grace. It had been a long time since he had seen such weariness on the face of his young Lord, not since the reign of the mad king and the result of his overthrowing. Something serious must have happened. The knot of tension tightened in Harry's stomach.

"Ned?"

"The man I executed this afternoon," Ned started, "he was a man of the Watch."

Harry felt his eyebrows climb his forehead. "He deserted?"

"He spoke of monsters. Dead men that walked the earth and killed. Unstoppable." Ned sighed, "Truly I would have thought him mad if not for his eyes holding fear, not delusions or trickery."

Harry stayed quiet, his gaze tracing a line of gold thread weaving in and out of the red tapestry on his right.

"Tell me it's not true."

Ned looked tired and worn. The Starks were never a family that thrived in the soft summer years.

"I wish I could." Harry said. "But there has been movement in the northern wilds these past months. The wildlings are scared, gathering around their king. Magic is stirring in the bones of the earth once again."

Ned propped his elbows on his knees, pressing his mouth against his interlocking fingers. "Tell me what can be done," he begged, "tell me what I should do."

"Prepare. Start gathering your harvest and supplies. Train up your archers and apprentice blacksmiths. That is all you can do. Winter is coming, and I fear I have not seen it's like since before Winterfell was carved from the rock."


	3. Chapter 3

The godswood at Winterfell was exactly how Harry remembered it. It was as old as the hot springs that the castle had been built on. These trees had been standing before even Harry had stumbled across this place with Brandon, and convinced the man to build his fortress here.

Small pools of hot water dotted the forest floor, with wisps of vapour rising to tangle in the branches above. There was always a fine mist in this place. Not enough to make visibility poor, but enough to lend the religious site an unearthly ambiance.

Many southerners found the godswood's too eerie, instead preferring their safer painted Septs. Even some northerners, who worshipped the old gods regularly, were unnerved by the godswood at Winterfell.

Harry had always found it soothing. It was a place where magic had pushed up from the ground, taking a more active role in the lives of her creations. It had been tough. Once, magic had been everywhere. But the Iron Age had started the downfall. One by one the fae disappeared as increasing numbers of muggles wielded weapons that would harm them, until only those small enough to hide remained – the pixies and brownies. After which was the decline of children born with the gifts. It was slow, lasting over thousands of years and hundreds of detrimental wars, but eventually they were left with this; those born only with the faintest hint of magic in their veins. No better than squibs.

There was no one left who had the ability to match Harry. No one for him to pass his knowledge onto. Becoming the Master of Death had robbed him of the ability to sire children.

He was the last.

They had entered limbo after that, magic giving just enough to keep the land steady, if seasonally challenged. And then the Septs had arrived. Godswood's were cut down in large swathes all across the southern lands. Magic had been forever exiled to the north.

It was then that the last of the dragons had died. Harry had felt their loss keenly, choosing to spend three decades hiding away in the Dornish Marches as far away from the north as he could get. Away from the backlash of magic that had his blood screaming in his veins.

Eventually the pain had died down enough so that he could journey homeward, but it had never been the same. Magic had retreated, pulling away from even the godswoods, their faces showing her sorrow.

Now all that was left was those who dabbled in alchemy and assassination, Harry and the Others. And the Others were awakening.

Harry stepped further into the trees, the mists swirling around his ankles. It had been a few days since his arrival. The newer servants were still more than curious about him. It was taking a surprising amount of restraint to keep from smiling every time he happened to overhear their gossip. The older servants however, the ones that had seen him before, were on edge. Their whispers were of a much more serious kind. Harry wished that he could reassure them, could tell them that his visit was only because he had become lonely, but he couldn't.

His silence on the topic made matters worse, and it hadn't been long before Winterfell was infused with a strange, malignant sort of tension that had brother snapping at brother.

Lady Catelyn Stark, despite being southern born and therefore not quite as in tune with the magic of the land as her northern neighbours, still managed to pick up on the restlessness invading her home. She had rightfully deduced that Ned's preoccupation was down to Harry's arrival and the glares she had been sending Harry's way were not lost on him either.

She had been polite, as all highborn women were these days, but she had made it clear that he was unwelcome in her home.

It was unfortunate for her that Winterfell had been Harry's long before it had been hers.

The godswood eventually came into view, the white trees still mourning their loss. Harry wished the sight stirred up feelings – regret, remorse or anger, he would take anything at this point – but all he was left with was an aching hollow place bracketed by his ribcage.

He traced the face of the Old Woman, the red sap that made up her tears tacky on his fingertips. Sighing, he stepped back. There wasn't even a spark.

It was too much. Harry turned and strode blindly through the woods. He couldn't stand there a moment longer, looking at the one thing that should have remained constant and had failed him so completely.

He wasn't surprised when he realised he was crying, instead brusquely wiping away the tears, smearing the sap that still coated him fingers.

It wasn't until he came across the pool that he stopped, his memories overwhelming him and bringing a fond smile to his face. Hidden away behind a bank of trees, it was the most secluded of the hot springs. Harry had chosen to bathe there once and had been accidentally stumbled upon by Brandon, sparking a love affair that had spanned millennia.

Unable to resist, Harry shed his boots and rolled up the legs of his breeches. The ground was a large slab of stone, weathered smooth, creating a natural shelf. Harry sat, dangling his legs over the edge until they were submersed up to his knees.

He lost track of time after that, the sky hidden by the thick branches overhead. It wasn't until he heard high yap of a dire wolf pup that he came back to himself. Opening his eyes he was confronted with a blushing Sansa. It was obvious that she'd walked in on him, become flustered and tried to quietly leave him to his peace only to be thwarted by her companion.

Harry hid his smile, knowing that if he let it show the young girl would definitely leave, and shifted until he was sitting upright. He held out his hand in invitation, not at all surprised when the pup came over to investigate first, rolling onto her back to get her belly scratched.

"I am sorry, Ser Harry –" Sansa started to apologise, ducking her head to look at the floor.

Harry waved her off. "It's alright; I wasn't doing anything except airing my memories."

The girl glanced up at him and he smiled fondly at her, gesturing to the empty space next to his seat.

"Why don't you join me?"

"Oh, I couldn't, Ser. I was just –"

"Sansa," Harry sighed, still smiling, "I would be honoured if you would join me. Unless you have someplace else to be?"

Once her token refusal had been rebuffed Sansa immediately joined him, hesitating only a second before she picked up the hem of her dress and sat down. Harry watched her grin as she wiggled her toes in the hot water.

"Thank you for the invitation, Ser."

Harry nudged her with his shoulder. Sitting down, Sansa was only a little shorter than he, her red hair pulled back into an elegant knot. She seemed content – happy even.

Harry was glad.

"It has been a while since I've last seen you. And now you have a companion."

Sansa preened, her smile brightening her face. "Yes, a gift from Father. Her name is Lady."

Harry only barely stopped the snort of laughter. _Lady._ It seemed that no matter who Hermione became, she could never resist going for the obvious.

"An apt title," he said instead, scratching the pup behind the ears.

Sansa took the praise as an invitation to converse. Harry let her talk of Old Nan's tales, of heroes and villains and knights beyond measure, enjoying her childish joy. It was a rare shine of innocence in his life.

He enjoyed listening. To see how the stories changed with her retelling, which parts were edited or embellished. If there was one thing that became obvious, it was that Sansa was in love with the idea of love. Naïve, but Harry hoped she would never have to find out any different, that he could do something to make sure she could have this one piece of happiness.

"—and then Father said that _King Robert_ is coming to visit! Can you believe that? He's coming _here_ , to _Winterfell_ –"

"What?"

Sansa blinked at the sudden interruption. "Um," she started again, a little unsurely, "King Robert is coming to visit Father."

Harry realised he was gaping and closed his mouth, frowning at the information.

Sansa started to fidget, looking worried. "Is this not a good thing?"

 _I…don't know…_ , Harry thought. The news should not have been such a surprise. Ned and Robert were old friends. Robert had even been betrothed to Lyanna before her untimely demise. But there was something off, something that coincided with the uneasy tension that had been growing in his stomach.

_Is this it? Is this where it all begins?_

"Ser?"

The quiet voice of a frightened child drew Harry's attention from the dark thoughts. He forced a tight smile on his face to reassure her, brushing back a lock of her hair that had come undone.

"Do not worry yourself; I was needlessly surprised at the news."

She didn't look like she believed him, but let it go, instead choosing to impart the rest of the castle gossip.

"Father invited Uncle Benjen home for the feast; apparently he will be arriving from the Wall in three days."

" _What?_ "

This time his interruption caused Sansa nothing but badly hid mirth. She sent him a sly little grin, not even trying to hide how his exclamation entertained her.

Harry cleared his throat. It didn't help him reclaim any dignity, but that could be due to the blood stinging his cheeks. He did manage to resist dropping his head into his hands. He counted that as a victory, magic save him.

"Are you well, Ser?" Came the faux-innocent inquiry.

Harry scowled, causing her to burst into giggles.

"Aye," he said, "just wait until you find your knight. Then you'll know how it feels."

She stood, picking up her shoes in one hand and smoothing down her skirts with the other. "One can only hope," she said primly, before flouncing off in the direction she had arrived from, Lady hot on her heels. Harry's laughter echoing after them both, a welcome reprieve in the twilight.


	4. Chapter 4

Benjen arrived three days later with little fanfare, slipping into Winterfell like a thief. Harry had spent the morning at the pools in the godswood, but was with Ned when word arrived that his brother was waiting on him.

Harry waved Ned on, happy to let the brothers reunite in privacy, but he wasn't so strong as to resist peeking in on them.

His cloak had been aired during his time here, and smelt fresh enough that he was confident it wouldn't accidentally reveal his presence. With a whisper of cloth, the hood fell over his face and he padded after Ned. Slipping into an alcove when the two men came into sight, laughing and hugging each other in the middle of the corridor.

But despite the mirth being shown, Benjen looked tired. At the Wall, Harry had not been close enough to see the shadows beneath his eyes, or the way his wrinkles had deepened from constant worry. Harry ached, wanting to do nothing but comfort him and cut down all who threatened him.

Benjen and Ned drew apart, clapping each other on the shoulders, before walking away heading in the direction of Ned's study. Harry didn't follow.

~*~

The hallways of Winterfell were bustling with activity. Servants were working overtime to get everything ready for the king's visit. According to the raven he would be arriving sometime very soon, even when Harry factored in delays that were a certainty in this weather with such a large caravan of people.

Ned had confessed his suspicions as to his friend's visit. He also shared with Harry the words Catelyn's sister had written – that the previous King's Hand had been murdered.

It wasn't completely unexpected. Since the position had been created the men who held it had increasingly shortened lives. It rather reminded Harry of a certain Defence against the Dark Arts position, but instead of a curse it was man's greed for power, and the lengths to which they would go to achieve it.

He would have liked to have proclaimed it the result of the new gods, but man had been killing man for far longer than any god existed.

He was worried though. With a threat against Robert's life, Ned would do nothing else but travel with his friend back to Kings Landing. And a threat to the King was doubly a threat to the King's Hand. If Harry was to abide by his vow, he could do no more than to travel with Ned and protect him from all who plotted in the shadows. But it would leave the Stark children unprotected and, worse, Benjen would be returning to the Wall once business had been concluded, and returning to the White Walkers that stirred beyond its safety.

Benjen was a ranger. Harry could not leave him so completely undefended now that the seasons were changing. Wildling ambushes were the least of their worries.

One thing was for certain – Harry would have to make a decision and soon. No doubt the king would be hurrying Ned along for an answer, if he even asked the man.

Harry crossed his arms as he leant against the corridor wall. The heat of the stone sinking deep into his shoulders. With his eyes closed he could pretend that no problems existed, that he was in Winterfell during any of the peaceful times he had lived through, that he could open his eyes and see the soul he'd fallen in love with walk towards him with a smile on their face and welcome in their eyes. Despite the millennia that had passed, the sounds of castle life never really changed.

The heavy weight of someone's gaze had his eyes snapping open in a rude awakening. Benjen stood down the corridor from him, having just turned the corner. There was a startled and cornered look on his face, like he hadn't expected Harry to be here.

And maybe he hadn't. Harry was sure Ned had told Ben that he was back, but he didn't suppose Ben expected him to stake out his living quarters.

It might be underhand of Harry, but since Ben had taken the Black under what he supposed was his duty to his family, their relationship had become secretive and strained.

Harry straightened, pushing himself off the wall. "Ben," he smiled, taking a step towards the other man, his hands coming up of their own violation, reaching for him.

Ben's gaze flickered away, darting about the passing handmaidens carrying bedding and fresh linens, before returning to Harry. This time his gaze fell over Harry's right shoulder. He made no move to step closer.

"Harry. It's been too long."

"Not as long as you might think." Harry returned, the admission gaining him a glance from Ben. "Can we speak?"

"Not here." Ben said. "My rooms." He didn't move, waiting on Harry to let himself through the door he had been leaning next to.

"Ben—" Harry sighed. It was fruitless to try anything else. All Starks were stubborn, Ben most of all.

Ben's room were exactly as Harry remembered them. One of the servants had lit the fire and it was now blazing merrily away, chasing away any chill that entered from the window. The tapestries on the walls were of understated colours, Ben enjoying a more subdued palate than his older brother, but they highlighted the large wooden framed bed sitting pride of place in the middle of the chamber.

Apart from that the room was bare, any and all trinkets that Ben had collected through his childhood and teenage years having been put away.

Harry waited for Ben to enter after him, having left the door open on purpose.

It took a lot longer for him to appear than expected.

Ben entered quietly, refusing to meet Harry's gaze. The door thudded shut with a sound of finality, muffling the sounds of people passing just beyond the slab of wood and leaving them both with only the hiss and crackle of burning logs.

"What do you want, Harry?"

Ben spoke his question to the floor, his shoulders tight with tension. Harry moved closer, his hands itching to touch. He didn't try to restrain himself.

The boiled leather straps crossing over Ben's shirt were warm under Harry's palms. He could feel every breath Ben took, the beating of his heart. The dire wolf broach keeping his cloak fastened glinted red with firelight, at exactly Harry's eyelevel.

Ben was so young compared to Harry, even though he was in his thirties and more than a man, and yet Harry was still a head shorter than him. It was so different than any other reincarnation. Harry had had wives and lovers both taller and shorter than him, but Benjen had an inner strength to him that reminded Harry of the first time they had met at the hot springs. When Benjen's soul had gone by another name.

"Harry." Ben's hands came up, gripping his arms and Harry felt fear clog his throat for the first time in a century. Without conscious thought he tightened his grip, fingers curling around the leather, as if it could anchor them.

"Do not refuse me this." The request was murmured into Ben's chest, so low that Harry almost couldn't hear himself speak.

Ben didn't draw him closer, but he neither pushed him away.

"I swore an oath," Ben said into the quiet of the room, "to have no family and sire no sons."

There were a thousand things Harry wanted to do and say to that. In the end he let his head drop forward until the silver broach was digging sharply in the middle of his forehead.

"I cannot." Ben added. His voice sounding strained for the first time.

"Please."

Ben's shoulders slumped.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke to the sound of sword's clashing and the hammers of the blacksmiths ringing against steel. It was still morning, but the room was cold, the fire having died out sometime last night without being tended to. He shifted, hands sliding across the bottom sheets, warm under the piles of furs that they had somehow managed to drag over themselves before dropping off to sleep.

His questing fingers met neither skin nor shirt. Opening his eyes confirmed that Benjen had left.

He was alone.

A bitter ache filled his chest and Harry found himself unable to do anything but lie there, staring at the empty spot next to him. The only evidence that he had not been alone that night was the slight indent in the pillow.

The sound of sparring came again from the window, along with a familiar voice. Getting to his feet, Harry ignored the cold stone and frigid air against his unclothed body. The shutters were wide open, letting in the weak summer light.

Below, in the courtyard, Benjen was instructing Jon how to wield a blade, his hand guiding the boy through the motions of each swing. He never once looked up to where Harry was standing.

Bitterness coursed through Harry's veins. He had nothing to worry about, not in regards to Jon. Benjen had every right to teach his nephew and he had no way of knowing that Harry was watching them, but it still felt like a blow. In a perfect world that would be their son he'd be teaching, blood or not.

No, in a perfect world Harry would be long since dead, never having to suffer through year after year of life, love and continual heartbreak.

He needed a drink. He needed to get so pissed that he couldn't remember anything anymore.

Yesterday he had heard Lady Catelyn make mention of eight barrels of ale being brought up from the cellars for the kings party. He would go and find out where they were stored and liberate one for his own use.

~*~

Harry was brought out of a blissfully hazed existence with a sharp prod to his shoulder. Lifting his head did nothing to remind him where he was or who had just hit him.

"Harry."

_I know that voice. That's Ned. I like Ned._

Harry opened his eyes.

_Oooh…that helps._

Ned was standing at what seemed to be a rakish angle by Harry's feet. It was more than bemusing until Harry realised, through ale-sodden mind, that Ned was standing perfectly upright and it was Harry who was slumped at an ungainly angle.

"Harry, what is wrong with you?"

Harry smiled, a part of him aware that it was probably the doziest looking that he'd ever been.

_Oh well, it's not like Ned's never seen me like this. Or…wait, was that Rickard? Tyrell? Wait, didn't he ask a question? What was it? Oh bugger. Quick, I should say something._

"Neddy Ned Ned!"

_Meh._

Harry blinked, trying to force his eyes open to look more sober than he obviously was. Based on Ned's narrow-eyed look, it didn't work.

"Are you drunk?" The Lord of Winterfell asked.

Harry snorted, pasting on his face the most incredulous expression he could manage. "No," he said, gesturing at the man with his mug. It slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Ned raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, one," Harry said, trying and failing to push himself to a more reasonably vertical position, "that wasn't because I am drunk. That happened because I have been a wolf for three years and am still getting used to having opposable thumbs."

"And sitting upright it seems," came Ned's dry reply.

Harry cursed and gave up his struggles, choosing instead to slide back into his previous position. "Yeah well, gravity and I have a disagreement. It doesn't like me. It's why I'm short."

"I see," Ned said, and then paused, his eyes widening as his gaze wandered over Harry's right shoulder.

_What's so interesting about…oh right, the barrel._

Or, to be more specific, the barrels. Harry had indeed found the ale he had heard of, but by the time he scraped the bottom of the first, his bitterness had not disappeared, though it had lessened somewhat. The conclusion he'd drawn was that he needed more, hence a rather stealthy, if he was asked, trip down to the cellar to liberate the rest of them.

He must have passed out around the third.

"Three barrels? How are you not poisoned?"

 _Oh, guess it wasn't Ned after all._ Not if he was asking questions like that. Three was nothing compared to some of his previous benders.

"To be honest," Harry said, "I'm not sure I'm not." He ignored Ned's worry as something occurred to him. "What are you doing down here anyway? Hasn't the Warden of the North got better things to do then explore the cellars?"

"King Robert arrived with his caravan earlier this afternoon."

"So?"

Ned's lips thinned. "So you missed the greeting. The entire House is supposed to be present when the king arrives."

"He's your king, not mine."

Harry thought Ned might strike him for that comment, and he would probably deserve it acting like he was. Instead the man grabbed him by his shoulders and dragged him to his feet. He swayed alarmingly for a moment but managed to stay standing, even when Ned let go and took a step back.

"Nevertheless," Ned continued, "there is a feast going on right now in his honour and you are missing it."

Harry smiled. It came out more bitter than he hoped. "I'm not part of your House."

"But you are my family."

"Not by blood."

Ned cracked a small smile, "And when has family consisted only of blood-kin?"

"Touché."

~*~

The feasting hall was bright and loud and Harry felt the need to turn to his cup once again just to get it over with. At the top of the room was a long table that sat the most important guests. Harry could spy the royals, Lady Catelyn and her children and two empty chairs that he supposed belonged to him and Ned.

One noticeable absence was Benjen. Harry spied him sitting next to Jon with the masses as Ned guided him to the head table with a firm hand. They locked gazes for one brief moment before Ben turned his attention back to Jon.

At this point, Harry didn't understand why he expected any different.

The rest of the room was filled with Starks and Lannisters mingling as they ate, drank and joked with one another. It was all rather festive. Harry hated it.

Ned didn't relax his grip until Harry had been pushed into one of the free seats next to Lady Catelyn, sitting down next to him and to a man that could only be the king.

"And who is this?" The question came from Robert. He was a large man, muscle having gone to seed a long time ago. His face was already flushed from a combination of the heat of the room and a copious amount of alcohol. Grease glistened on his lips and beard and, Harry spotted, had dripped down the front of his shirt as well.

The queen sat rigidly to his other side, Harry could just see her over the bulk of Robert if he leant forward. Her brother, Jaime, sat next to her.

Harry had never met Robert before, having been ordered by Rickard – Ned and Benjen's father – to stay behind when he travelled south with his heir and died by the Mad King's orders. This was when Robert's rebellion was underway.

There were few things that Harry regretted, that was one of them.

Ned had joined Robert in the usurping of the throne but by then Lady Catelyn was pregnant, Ned had already sired a second son by another woman and Harry had been caught travelling between the two.

"This is Harry," Ned said, turning to Robert, "a friend of the House of Stark."

"Bit young isn't he?" The question came from Jaime.

"And you are?" Harry asked, ignoring the sharp kick delivered under the table by Ned.

The blond straightened in his seat. Harry was sure if he had fur it would be bristling. "Jaime Lannister."

Harry blinked, a slow smile crossing his face. "Oh, I know you, you're the Kinslayer."

Jaime's answering smile was more of a snarl. " _King_ slayer actually."

"Is there much difference?"

Ned's kick was harder that time and Harry conceded, sinking back into his chair and only just resisting sliding under the table to get away. He glanced at the man but became distracted by the hatred in his sister's glare.

Not feeling particularly generous towards any of them for being the reason why he was here right now and being held in such obvious contempt, Harry performed a superficial legilimency. The results of which almost had him choking on his own tongue.

Robert eyed Harry over the rim of his cup, "He's not another bastard that you've kept hidden all these years?" He asked Ned, laughing loudly, as if it were a great accomplishment.

Harry assumed that the man thought it was. If rumour was true then the king had more illegitimate children than he had heirs to the throne.

"No," Ned said, casting a glance towards Lady Catelyn who sat stiffly beside him, "a friend."

"And yet you favour him over your Lady wife." Robert pointed out; making mention of the seating arrangements that had Harry one seat closer to him than Catelyn. "Well he's mighty pretty for a _friend_ ," Robert winked heavily, "though I had never suspected your tastes to run in such a direction."

Harry grabbed at the mug of ale sitting in front of him.

_Yeah. I'm going to need this._

It got progressively worse from there on. To compensate the increasingly vulgar insinuations made by Robert to Ned and himself, Harry forwent all food and turned to his drink, trying desperately to get back to his previous haze. But the heat and noise of the room prevented him. Instead he was rewarded with the sight of Benjen steadfastly ignoring him.

The alcohol in his gut churned, turning into a dark, bitter thing.

He wasn't sure what exactly made his patience snap – whether it was the toxic amount of ale or Robert asking just how well his mouth worked – but snap it did.

Harry slammed his mug down hard enough to put a dent in the wooden table. It was more than he intended but it did the job well enough. Everyone at the table, and some of those sitting on the benches nearest to them, gave him their attention.

Harry smiled. "It was my belief," he said politely, rather proud that his words didn't slur off his tongue, "that the heirs to the throne should be Baratheon's."

The noise level of the room dipped as those in his hearing froze.

" _What?_ " The word sounded like it was dragged from the very depth of Robert's chest.

For the first time, Harry could see the warrior he had once been. It didn't convince him to stay his course.

"The children you proclaim are yours," he clarified. "They look just like their father." Here his gaze slid to Jaime who was staring at him with panic in his eyes, his expression set in stone. Cersei's knuckles were white on her knife grip. Harry smirked, taking a self-congratulatory sip of his drink and started to snicker. "I suppose kinslaying is not all he does."

Cersei and Robert both stood sharply, attracting the attention of the rest of the hall, his bellow of "How dare you!" overcome by her screech of "You dare accuse _me_ of—"

" _Tell the truth._ " Harry snarled, magic unconsciously leaping to obey, turning his words into an order that must be obeyed.

"My brother Jaime fathered my children."

Cersei looked ill at the admission, but she and Jaime didn't have enough time to do anything else as Robert rounded on them immediately with a roar of " _Traitors!_ "


	6. Chapter 6

There was a heartbeat of silence, two, three, before, every man in the hall jumped to their feet and reached for their weapons. Though whether it was because of the king's roar or not was yet to be seen. The red tunics of the Lannister party a bright splash against the greys and browns of Stark's men, making them easy to spot and easy to target.

Jaime and Ned stood at exactly the same time – Ned clamping a hand on Robert's arm, restraining him from doing anything foolish. Jaime wrapped his arm around his sister's waist and dragged her backwards, throwing his free arm out behind him to keep his children out of sight of the furious king.

Something in Harry settled badly seeing the terror and confusion on the young children's faces. In that moment he regretted his decision.

"Lannisters! To me!" The loud cry was obeyed instantly, the men rushing to Jaime's aid until a red wall separated the king from his foe.

"Arrest them!" The king bellowed, his face turning an ugly puce colour as he strained against Ned's grip. "Bring me their heads!"

The men of Winterfell obeyed and all hell broke loose. Man turned against man. Stark against Lannister. Those who would try and obey the king against those who were buying their Lord and Lady enough time to escape. The sound of clashing steel only just overpowering the screams of those who could not compensate for their lack of armour. Blood and other things made the floor treacherous.

Harry stared, absolutely enthralled. A mug flew over his shoulder and shattered on the wall behind him, showering ale over his neck and shoulder.

Jaime continued to drag his sister towards the door as she spat insults at Harry, Ned and Robert, calling down vile insinuations on their parentage. Their children, wide-eyed and trembling, protected by the ring of loyal men ready and willing to lay down their lives for the branded traitors to the crown.

It was all rather romantic.

"You _son of a whoring bitch-!_ "

"Well that's a bit much," Harry murmured, "considering the situation."

There was no possible way that Cersei could have heard him, and yet he was subjected to a glare that promised nothing more than eternal torture. For a moment, Harry was glad that none alive had the power to make it happen.

Lady Catelyn was mirroring Jaime's actions, herding the Stark children out one of the side doors with the help of Robb. They had been quickly joined by Jon and Benjen, the former of which grabbed Arya as Ben slammed and bolted the door behind him.

Harry was left sitting in a madhouse. He supposed he deserved it. He sighed and put down his mug just as Robert managed to shake off Ned and charge after his disappearing wife, only to come up short against the Lannister's men. He was without sword or mail but his rage had clouded his mind and with a great shout he grabbed the nearest object – a wooden stool – and started wildly swinging. He managed to take out five of his opponents before Ned caught up with him.

"Robert!" Ned shouted, ducking a wide swing of the stool, "Stop!"

"I will have your heads, Lannisters! Mark my words!" He tried one more charge and was stopped by a valiantly stupid man, who was promptly brained for his bravery. But the action did allow Jaime and Cersei enough time to slip out the doors and head towards the courtyard. Half of their guard went with them, the other stayed behind to bar the way – with their corpses if necessary.

Harry remembered that kind of desperation and loyalty. He felt for them, he really did.

Robert didn't and neither did Winterfell. The rest of the battling Lannisters were slowly being overcome by the Starks, either falling to their knees in defeat or bleeding out their last. The hall was filled with the groans of the hurt and dying. The stench of blood and shit heavy in the air – it was death in its purest form.

The wolf in Harry twitched, his senses sharpening. From outside he could just hear the sound of a child crying over rapidly retreating hoof beats.

The Lannister's had escaped and it seemed Ned knew it too as he grabbed Robert by the arm again. This time the king did not shake him off.

"Enough! Robert, enough. They're gone."

Robert rounded on Ned. "Gods damn and blast you! I could have had them!"

"With a stool for a weapon?"

"Yes!" Robert gestured to those he had defeated, knocked unconscious or dead, their temples stowed in, blood dripping from their eyes. "I had them!"

"And what then?" Ned asked. "Would you have killed them where they stood? Bludgeoned them to death? The woman you called wife? The children you called heirs? Do they mean so little that you could mete out such a judgement within ten minutes of the truth being known?"

Robert closed his eyes, his chest heaving from the exertion and adrenaline of battle, his head tilted back. "Damn you, Stark." He opened his eyes, staring blindly at the ceiling for a long minute, and then glanced down at the stool in his hand with disgust. Contemptuously he threw it aside.

"My friend," Ned said quietly as his men gathered up their new prisoners, "let us think this through rationally."

"We don't have time for rational, Ned. They have escaped. Every moment we dawdle and chit-chat here they get further out of my reach."

"Cersei and her brother have escaped, most likely heading for Casterly Rock. Tywin would no more turn away his children and grandchildren than hate his wife, even if they are traitors. Worse, he will call his bannermen and create himself an army to oppose you."

"So we crush them. They cannot stand against the might of Kings Landing and the North! What more is to it than that?"

You _must_ think this through, Robert. At the moment we are the only ones who know the truth. Without getting word out of their betrayal those under the House of Lannister will have no reason to doubt their actions. And who knows what the other Houses will do. There are some that still see you as usurper. We must give them due cause to doubt the lies Tywin will spread. We _must_."

Robert rubbed a hand over his face, as if he were wiping away the grime of politics. "It all used to be so much easier when things were settled with the sword. I'm no good at these games, Ned," he warned, "it's why I offered you the position of Hand in the first place."

Ned clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Then do as I advise. Head to Kings Landing. Let the people know."

"They will think me weak. Who would support a king who managed to let this happen?"

"Then twist your tale," Harry interrupted them, his chin propped in his hand still sitting at the table having not moved throughout the entirety of the short lived battle. "The truth is as you make it. "

"You…" Robert scowled, his face darkening.

Harry stood, sauntering casually towards the two men, deftly avoiding the pools of blood and dead men on the floor. "Your plan has merit," he said, nodding at Ned. "You should head to Kings Landing as soon as possible. Get the word out before the other Houses start declaring sides." He smirked. "I'm sure the last thing you want is a civil war. I can't help remembering what happened to the last king fighting in one. If memory serves, _you_ were the opposer, isn't that correct?"

Robert snarled and took a step forward just as Ned moved in between them.

"Harry."

Harry smiled. "You can't argue with history, Ned. It never goes away."

"And you?" Ned asked, "What are you going to do?"

With Ned going to Kings Landing and heading off to war there was only one thing he could do.

Harry smiled. "I'm going to hunt some Lannisters."


	7. Chapter 7

Harry was digging his sword out of the bottom of his trunk when the cautious knock on the door came.

"Come in," he called out of his shoulder as he slid the blade from its sheath, watching the light dance on the steel as he checked the sharpness. The door creaked open and nothing else. Curious, he turned to find Sansa peering timidly from the corridor. Her eyes were wide and red, rubbed raw from crying.

"Sansa," Harry said in some surprise, "what are you doing here?" It was a valid question, he was sure Lady Catelyn wouldn't be letting any of the children out of her sight just yet.

Instead of answering Sansa rushed forwards and threw herself at him. Harry barely got the sword out of the way before the eleven year old was wrapped around his waist.

"Oh, hey, hey. That's-" he dithered for only a second before dropping the sword on the bed and wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders. "Come on now," he coaxed, "what's wrong."

Sansa shook her head, keeping her face buried against his stomach. Harry had the awful suspicion that she was crying. Carefully he stepped back, taking her with him, until he could sit down on the edge of the bed. Sansa crawled into his lap and pressed her face against his shoulder, letting out little hiccupping sobs as she did so.

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd always been awkward around crying girls and time had not fixed the problem. But he did what he could, hugging the girl close and gently rocking her until she was sniffling dejectedly into his shirt.

"Are we better now?" He asked after the silence drew out into something calming.

Sansa nodded but didn't say anything. She was still trembling.

"Do you want to tell me what all that was about?"

Her lips pulled down and started to wobble, tears filling her eyes again. Harry used the cuff of his sleeve to wipe her cheeks.

"Was that the first time you've seen a man killed?" He hazarded a guess. She ducked her head, answering his question without having to say a word.

Harry sighed lightly.

Of all the Stark children, Sansa was probably the least prepared for the brutality of battle. The second least being little Rickon who wouldn't understand anything. The boys had all been prepared for this, accompanying their father as he meted out the Kings Justice, and Arya was more inclined to the sword point than needlepoint.

Sansa, on the other hand, was her mother's daughter through and through for all she was a northern child.

He stroked her hair. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Why would they do that?"

The question was whispered and even sitting so close Harry barely heard it. "Why do men kill?" He asked. "For honour. Loyalty. A number of reasons."

"No." Sansa shook her head, straightening but keeping her fingers tangling in his shirt. "Queen Cersei and her brother. Why would they-"

"Ah."

 _Well this's awkward._ Harry tried to keep himself from wrinkling his nose. "Uh…maybe you'd be better off having this conversation with your mother? Or Septa Mordane? I'm sure they'd be happy to answer your questions."

He didn't feel at all guilty about passing the buck.

"But _why?_ " Sansa asked in frustration, ignoring his attempt at getting himself out of the conversation. "She was married to the _king._ "

"Just because Robert is king, does not make him a good husband."

Sansa looked at him in surprise. "But-"

"I know what stories you have been told," Harry said gently, "but life is very rarely like that. Have you thought that maybe Cersei did not _want_ to be married to Robert? That she loved another?"

"Her brother?"

Harry shrugged. "The Targaryen's married their siblings to keep the line pure."

He didn't mention that at the time Hermione had been reborn as Aegon, and Ron as Aegon's sister Rhaenys. Fate had been cruel during that lifetime but the two had ignored all social norms, conquering Westeros and making such things seem acceptable in the eyes of the other Houses. A feat that echoed down almost three hundred years of history.

"Who knows," he continued, "maybe Cersei and Jaime are soul mates? In any case, who are we to judge?"

Sansa was frowning, thinking hard about something. Harry didn't rush her; the girl had to work this out for herself if she was ever going to feel completely settled with the knowledge.

"Do you believe in soul mates?"

Harry thought of Ron and Hermione, and how they always ended up in some sort of relationship no matter who they were born as. He also thought of Brandon and every reincarnation – male and female – that his soul had been since and how, even if they didn't have a life together, Harry always ended up falling in love all over again.

"Yes."

The confession brought a moment of quiet and then a "Do you think _I_ have a soul mate?"

Harry smiled and ruffled Sansa's hair, "I can honestly say that you absolutely do."

Sansa's answering smile was blinding and Harry didn't feel any guilt at chivvying her back to her mother so he could finish getting ready.

The blade that he had abandoned earlier was to his satisfaction. Ned had obviously taken care of it whilst Harry had been away. He strapped it onto his waist, the weight of it a comforting familiarity that he didn't know he'd missed. His cloak was next, settling around his shoulders. He didn't need to pack anything else as he would be travelling in his animagus form for the most part, making food and sleeping comforts redundant.

He'd planned to leave before lunch, hoping to have the afternoon to travel. The fleeing Lannisters had most likely been riding all night, but the distance would be nothing to him.

He had just slipped out from his room when his attention was caught by the sound of Benjen's voice coming from the next corridor. Ned was with him. Harry froze in place in the middle of the hallway, not sure if he wanted to listen but too nosy to leave them be.

"All I ask, brother, is that you consider it." Ned's voice was quiet, sounding like he already knew the answer but thought it his duty to ask anyway. "There is going to be war, and with Harry and I down in Kings Landing, Winterfell will be open to attacks. There should always be a Stark in Winterfell. It is our way."

"You know I cannot. I am First Ranger of the Night's Watch. I swore not to get involved in the disputes of the land. Besides, Robb will be here."

"Robb will be a great Lord, but he is still a boy, not yet seen battle. All I ask is that you stay."

"For how long? Until the king is satisfied or until you can think of something else to keep me here. I gave my word, Ned. I will stand by it."

"Ben I-" Ned sounded lost, "I would never ask you to give up your honour."

There was a pause and then Ben asked, his voice pitched low, "Did Harry ask you to do this?"

"No, of course not. But he…he worries about you. You know that."

"I made my choice."

Another pause. Harry tried to picture their expressions, but found he could not.

"I leave for the Wall in two days." Benjen said eventually. "Jon has expressed an interest in joining me. I would advise that you respect his choice as you and Harry haven't respected mine. Good day, brother."

The parting was accompanied by the sound of footsteps leading away. Harry closed his eyes, the skin of his face prickling with heat. When he opened them he found Ned had rounded the corner and was staring at him in some embarrassment.

"Harry…"

"It's fine, Ned." Harry forced himself to smile. "Will you accompany me to the courtyard? I'll be leaving soon."

Ned nodded, and Harry was grateful that the man was tactful enough not to say anything else on the matter.


	8. Chapter 8

The courtyard outside was bustling with activity, horses whinnying and dogs barking at the activity. Stable hands and blacksmiths were working non-stop, weaving in and around the small contingency of men that Ned had chosen to ride with him to Kings Landing and outfitting them for the long ride ahead. As they would be switching out the horses at each resting stop instead of letting them rest, they had chosen to use the mounts left behind by the men captured or killed last night. The steeds of Winterfell were too well trained to be swapped out for a mere farmer's workhorse.

Practically all of the guards Robert had brought with him had defected back to the Lannisters at last night's battle and as such he was alone within the chaos having no men to gather around him. Harry thought he must be feeling pretty galled that the men that he'd trusted to protect him had so easily turned.

The journey to Kings Landing would take two weeks of hard riding. Luckily, Casterly Rock was almost the exact same distance away, meaning that Tywin wouldn't have a large amount of time to spread whatever lies he managed to invent before the truth was known. Of course, ravens would be sent ahead of time, but without the King and his Hand in Kings Landing, there was not much the council could do.

Lady Catelyn and her children were clustered around Ned, saying their goodbyes and looking worried. Harry would like to say his goodbyes to them too, but it was less urgent. He knew he'd be coming back, whereas Ned didn't. For no matter how hard Harry tried, death was still an inevitability – whether now or years down the line.

_Maybe it would be better if I just leave._

He started to make his way to the gate, slipping through the busy crowd. He'd thought he was almost there when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him into a nearby alcove, out of the sight of most nearby people.

It was Ben and he looked torn. "I-" he said, and then stopped, huffing out a short breath and frowned. The lines on his face deepened with the action.

"I'm sorry." Harry said softly. Ben's head snapped up in surprise, making Harry feel worse. "I'm sorry that you think I don't respect your decisions. I do. You do good work on the wall and-" his breath hitched, "and I'm so proud of you."

"You keep asking me to break my oath." Ben said. "And I do, every time. But I hate myself for it. And then I hate you, and I don't want to hate you. But you keep asking."

"I know."

"Don't-" Benjen started before changing his mind, " _why?_ "

Harry couldn't help the huff of laughter escaping, luckily it sounded more rueful than bitter. "You keep leaving." _Because I've followed you for the past eight thousand years and whenever I feel I've caught up to you it's time to say goodbye._

"This is the life I've chosen." Ben stressed. "Please, let me live it."

And really, that was all there was too it. Harry nodded and took a step backwards. He didn't smile though, he didn't think he could.

 _There's always the next life_ , he thought. _Or the next, or the one after that. Honestly, it's not even the first time we haven't been together. I don't know why it's hurting so much._

Except he did because it was now and he would have to wait. Again.

Ben stood, looking uncertain for a moment, before departing, blending into the rest of the men. He didn't look back.

Harry took an extra few seconds to compose himself before making his own departure. He was glad he did when a ringing shout came from the dogs stables. Every person's head turned towards the noise of scuffling and raised voices.

Feeling his curiosity peek, Harry made his way over to where Ned and Robert stood together. He was just in time to see Farlen, the kennel master, drag Tyrion Lannister before them.

"I must ask that you unhand me at once, you brute." Tyrion exclaimed, pulled lopsided by Farlen's grip on his arm.

Farlen ignored him and turned to Ned, sparing only the briefest of courtesy glances to Robert. "Found him sleeping with the dogs, my Lord. What should we do with him?"

"Cut off his head and stick it on a pike," Robert snarled, "let's see what those traitors will do then, eh?"

Harry frowned, glancing between Ned, Robert and Tyrion.

"What is this? What on earth are you talking about?" Tyrion turned to Ned, "Is this the famed northern hospitality at work? Is this how you would treat a guest?"

"You act like you have no knowledge of last night." Ned said slowly.

"Of course I have knowledge of last night," Tyrion scoffed, "I drank and made merry with a number of your very delightful whores. Other than that what else was there?"

"Your sister admitted the true lineage of her children last night."

Tyrion frowned, "true lineage…?"

"It seems they are more Lannister than we were led to believe."

At Ned's words, Tyrion paled. "Ah," he said, "well that is unfortunate now, isn't it?"

"Throw him with the rest of those cowardly dogs." Robert spat. "Let him see what it means to commit treason against the throne."

Ned hesitated. "Where are the rest of the men we captured last night?"

"In the cellar, my Lo—"

"So take him down there man!" Robert interrupted.

Harry decided enough was enough. "No." He didn't speak loudly, but his voice rang with authority. The men of the guard straightened perceptibly at the sound.

"No?" Robert rounded on him, "What do you mean no."

Harry ignored him, addressing Jory Cassel, the captain of the guard. "Take him to one of the guest rooms, keep him in comfort but guarded. He may be our prisoner but he is still the son of a Lord and we will treat him with the respect that comes with his title."

"Respect?" Robert blustered, "the dwarf has earned no respect!"

"Do as I say, Cassel."

Jory faltered, looking between Ned and the king. Ned nodded, barely a dip of his head and Jory straightened, his face blanking. He was about to ignore the order of his king for the order of his Lord. An offence that the Lannister's had committed last night with less than positive results, but he still carried them out.

Harry ignored the calculating stare of Tyrion as he was led into the castle. Hopefully the dwarf would know what was best and try not to wind up his gaolers.

Robert was left spewing threats against Harry and his future children and grandchildren. Hopefully Ned would be able to calm his hot-headed friend down otherwise it was going to be an awkward few months ahead.

The children were staring at him in awe, their wolves dancing around their feet, especially young Arya. Harry grinned and winked, his smile widening when she grinned back. He knelt on one knee and held out his arms, "Well? Come on then, let me say goodbye."

With barely a pause he was tackled by Arya. He hugged her tight.

"You ignored the _King._ " She whispered.

Harry pushed her back and cupped her face in his hands, searching her eyes, "Shall I tell you a secret?"

She nodded.

He leant in closer, inviting confidence, "I've never been one for the rules," he grinned. "Never be afraid to be yourself. Even if it goes against everything everyone says."

A thoughtful expression crossed her face and he moved on, kneeling in front of Bran and Rickon. Rickon latched onto his side, not really understanding what was happening but wanting a hug now that he'd seen Arya get one. "Shaggydog!"

Harry patted him on the head and held out his right hand for Bran to shake. "You going to take care of your brothers and sisters while your father's gone?"

Bran nodded, a serious expression gracing his face.

Harry returned his nod. "You'll be a fine knight one day." He left Bran grinning and picked up Rickon, passing him to his mother. "Call the bannermen," he murmured to her, "I hope it doesn't come to that, but I will not have my family put in any more danger."

Lady Catelyn studied him for a long moment, hugging her youngest child, before she straightened. "Neither would I."

Harry moved on, hugging Sansa who still looked a little pale. "Don't worry."

She raised her chin in defiance, "I'm not."

He chuckled. Robb was next, the oldest of Lady Catelyn's children standing tall and proud for all that he was fourteen. Harry held out his hand and Robb's grip was firm. "With your father gone you'll be Lord of Winterfell in his absence. I'll bring him back." Robb's hand tightened for a second, before he breathed out a great sigh and stepped back.

Jon was standing a little way aways from the rest of the kids and Harry had to walk over to him to offer his hand in goodbye. Jon only hesitated a moment, unsure, before holding out his own. "I've heard you want to take the black."

Jon's lips thinned. "That's right, Ser."

"A noble profession." Harry said and then leant forward, "But," he whispered, "I urge you to think about your choices. If it is something which you truly want then, by all means, go and become a member. However, if you're only taking it because you feel you have no place here, then reconsider. You are a Stark, no matter if you do not bear the name, and Winterfell will always be your home. It is in your blood."

When it looked like Jon wasn't going to say anything to that, Harry straightened and ruffled the boy's hair. "If you do decide to go, then look out for Benjen?"

Jon dipped his head in a short bow.

Harry looked over the six. These were the next generation. The ones who he would ride out to secure their safety. The older ones knew who he was, even if they didn't know his story. Bran and Rickon would in time learn that he would sacrifice everything to make sure they were safe. They carried the blood of the Stark's in their veins. They were as much his descendants as they were Brandon's.

Ned clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You've always looked out for us," he said quietly.

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? You're family."

They walked together out of the gate, Ned turning him by his shoulder when they were out of direct sight. "What will you do?"

Harry gazed south. "I'm going to follow them, try and see what their plans are."

"You will not take a horse." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"I travel faster on my own. My guess is that they're going to split off at the Trident and head down River Road to Casterly Rock."

"You think they'll stick to the roads?" Ned asked in some surprise.

"I think that their main priority right now is speed, not stealth. Not everyone will have heard the news the ravens carry, and for those who have the Lannister's command enough men to guard them. I'll meet you at Lord Harroway's town in twelve days. That should give you enough time."

Ned squeezed his shoulder and stepped back. "The gods be with you."

Harry smirked and rolled his shoulders, making the transition from man to wolf in one easy stretch. He grinned at Ned's awed expression, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, and then started to lope away as the sound of six dire wolf pups howling echoed from behind.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry caught up with Cersei and Jaime just after Moat Cailin. He'd been following them for several days, right in the knowledge that they would sacrifice stealth for speed. The countryside bore the scars of their passing in the horse-churned mud and flattened grasses. There had been quite a few times where they had cut straight across some poor farmer's fields to avoid a curve in the road.

He was also right in having tracked them in his animagus form instead of on horseback. The group had swapped horses at passing inns and farms, riding the animals into the dirt in their haste to escape. It was exactly the tactic that Robert and Ned were planning to make, and the reason why they would never catch up.

The Neck consisted of grasslands and marshes, being the area where the two rivers that made up The Twins sprung into being. It was very green, and very alive, and provided almost no coverage for Harry to conceal himself with. And as a wolf as big as a horse, he needed a lot of concealing. There was one time that he shifted back into his human form to try and get some sleep in a nearby barn but it meant sacrificing his greater sense of hearing. He'd spent the night unable to rest worrying in case they decided to investigate the barn and discovered him.

Not that they could kill him, of course, but having your head cut off was still a painful and disorientating experience.

The one worry that Harry had was that they'd head towards The Twins and cross over Frey land to get to Seagard and from there commissioning a ship to Lannisport. The Frey's, while not sworn to Casterly Rock, were still related to the Lannisters and would most likely give them crossing without penalty.

Harry shifted closer, laying low on his belly to conceal his massive bulk in the long grasses. Luckily the sun had just set and the sky was bruising to a dark purple, making it easier for him to hide in the shadows. The Lannisters had made camp for the night at the edge of a small wood. They'd deemed it safe enough to light a small fire without the risk of being spotted by travellers and they would have been right, if Harry had not already been following them.

It was the first time in a long time that they had actually stopped for a period of time other than to relieve themselves or to haggle in horse trade. They even ate on the road. And when it came time for the children to sleep, the men carried the two youngest and Joffrey dozed leaning against the chest of his father.

Each and every one of them looked exhausted: the adults from a hard ride and the children from the ever present tension in the group.

Right now Jaime was trying to convince his sister to leave the road and cut across the Twins.

It would be so easy to rush and kill them.

Harry settled down to listen.

"Cersei…"

"I don't think so, Jaime." Cersei was biting her nails, pacing back and forth in front of her brother. Her hair was undone and wild thanks to a week of no grooming.

Harry scoffed at those who thought Cersei was just a painted doll used to pretty up the throne room. The woman had a backbone of steel and knew how to get what she wanted. And at the moment all she wanted was to save the lives of her children. That, and her own neck, but Harry thought she would have taken the quicker and more dangerous way if it was only her neck on the line.

"It's a good option. The Frey's would let us cross." Jaime tried to placate her and Cersei rounded on him.

" _But at what cost?_ " She snarled. "You'd have us cross and then what?"

"We head to Seagard and catch a ship to Lannisport."

Cersei sneered. "And in the process you would take my children past the Iron Islands. Within spitting distance of the Greyjoy's. The Greyjoys who rebelled against us and we crushed, killing their heir. And you would take my children _there._ "

" _Our_ children, sister. Don't forget that I had a hand in making them too."

"Yet you would have them killed! Do not forget that Theon Greyjoy is a ward of Stark. Who knows if he's already sent out a raven to his father! For all you know Ironman's Bay could be swarming with their ships, ready and willing to sink us off the coast whilst we're helpless to stop it-"

Her tirade was cut short when her breath hitched. Harry watched as Jaime immediately went to her, pulling her against his chest and tangling his fingers in her hair.

"I will not let them have our children." She said after a moment.

Jaime pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I will die before they will get near them, Cersei. I swear. They will have to kill every bannerman and pull down the walls of Casterly Rock before they will hurt our family."

"Thank you."

"We'll continue down to the Trident and River Road. The Tully's still own Riverrun, but it's not the only place to cross the rivers, we'll avoid them and head to Pinkmaiden and then onto the Golden Tooth and home." He tilted Cersei's head up and framed her face with his hands, rubbing at the bruises under her eyes with his thumbs. "We'll be safe, sister. I'll get us home safe."

Harry carefully crawled away when they started to kiss.

Jaime managed to keep his vow. Three days after the man made his promise the party rode out of The Neck a little worse for wear. They were still recognisable though, choosing to risk being seen as the Queen and the heirs to the throne, rather than fleeing traitors.

It was a good decision as the news had not travelled yet. Though they did garner some strange looks at the state of their mounts and the fact that they were riding in dust stained feasting clothes.

Another two days after that and they were at the Trident and Lord Harroway's Town. They barely stopped, refusing to announce their presence and spending only enough time to switch horses and eat.

Then they turned onto the River Road and to relative freedom.

Harry continued following them, watching as the relaxed a bit more with every mile they put between them and the Trident.

They weren't completely safe yet, they still had to contend with Riverrun, and if Catelyn had sent word to her father than Tully men would be spread far and wide, but they were only a week away from their home and it showed.

When they stopped off at the Inn of the Kneeling Man to change horses again, Harry turned back. He wasn't going to do anything at this point and he needed to meet Ned back at Lord Harroway's town in two days' time.

He would protect the Starks.

Nothing more.


	10. Chapter 10

The town was a mass of bustling streets, people deftly weaving between trundling carts carrying everything from freshly caught fish to furniture. It was the major travelling hub in the country, all roads eventually crossing through on their way somewhere else.

With such an influx of visitors passing through it was very easy to get lost in the crowds and become anonymous.

Harry loved it. He'd loved it for years and was a regular visitor over the centuries. It was nice, living in a place that was so teeming with life. A place that had such solid foundations and yet managed to be so very temporary at the same time.

The other cities were too stagnant. Caught up in their ways and social traditions. Whatever managed to survive here was fluid, changing with each new passing ship or tradesman. Foreigner's customs being absorbed into the everyday life of the people around them.

It sort of reminded him of the Dothraki and the time he'd spent riding with them but, in all honesty, it was the London of his childhood that it reminded of him the most.

Harry was sitting in a pub, sipping at his third mug of ale. By his calculations Ned should be arriving any day now. And it wasn't if he had to constantly wait for their arrival in case he missed them. The news of the King's arrival would spread like wildfire in such a tightknit gossip community. Harry had absolutely no worry that he would miss their arrival.

The only problem would be getting close to them through the crowds. But that was what magic was for.

His instinct was proven correct when a fish-trader burst through the doors to announce the king's party had just arrived from the north just as he was finishing the last mouthful of his drink.

Harry put the mug down and rearranged his cloak about his shoulders, slipping out the front door as the room erupted in chatter.

The streets outside weren't much better, the news being whispered vendor to vendor. Harry had experienced a little of this when Cersei and her party had stopped over, but the queen and her brother trying to keep a low profile was different from the pomp and ceremony that the king demanded.

He turned northwards, slipping between the gathering crowds. It was a struggle, but with a few pushes and subtle uses of magic, he got to the edge just in time to see Ned pass by on his horse.

Their gazes met for the briefest of moments and Harry jerked his head towards the inn behind him. Ned nodded and then turned back to the front, ignoring the crowds around them. Harry watched as until he could no longer see the men of Winterfell passing though, allowing the surrounding people to surge about him, swallowing him up in the anonymous mass.

The inn that he had indicated was quite large and very popular. The beds were soft, the linen clean and the food spiced. Harry had been renting a room there for the past few nights, quite willing to sleep in a proper bed.

He waited for Ned in the dining area, refusing the offer of a drink, but tucking into a bowl of lamb stew.

Ned arrived less than an hour later. His entrance to the inn was to much less fanfare, not many people able to spot Ned as being part of the passing royal party. Harry watched as Ned glanced around for Harry, pulling off his gloves finger by finger. Harry stood, catching his attention, and gestured to the set of stairs leading to the upper floor. He didn't look back to see if Ned was following, he didn't need to.

Upstairs was quiet, but with the door to his room closed behind them the last of downstairs chatter became almost non-existent.

"I cannot stay long," Ned said, heading over to the window to peer outside. "Robert is stopping only for a meal with the local Lord to pay his respects and then he'll be on his way. We cannot delay him any longer. I do not think he would even stop for food if he did not have to."

"And the ravens?"

Ned turned to face him, wringing his gloves in his hands, the actions betraying the worry he was feeling. "Sent from Winterfell before we left," he admitted. "Though I do not know if all of them made it to their destinations."

"Not surprising." Harry slowly sank down onto the bed, watching as Ned tried not to pace the length of the room.

"But something that Robert demands rectified."

"The king can demand what he wants."

Ned shot him a glare. "The king has every right to demand things of his people."

Harry raised an eyebrow in return. "The _king_ has a duty to be reasonable. Especially to those trying to help him."

The silence stretched until Ned sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Forgive me. It has been a stressful two weeks. Tell me, what has happened to the Lannisters? Do you have good news?"

"I followed them until they were well on the way down the River Road."

"You didn't stop them?" Ned said, flabbergasted.

"No, of course not."

"Why not?" Ned snapped. "Gods damn you, Harry. This could have all been over!"

"And what, Ned." Harry stood, anger making his voice tight, "What would you have me do? Kill them? Rip them apart to be blamed on wild animals? Orphan their children?" He sneered, "Or would you have me kill the children too?"

"Because of them hundreds of others will die!"

"No." Harry slashed at the air in front of him, unable to stand still, "because of _Robert_ people will die. They aren't causing this war; they are _running for their lives_. Robert is the one charging after them, demanding their lives! Banishment is a perfectly viable option that he's ignoring even exists at the moment. You are the King's Hand, his childhood friend. Talk sense into him. This doesn't need to end in bloodshed."

Ned shook his head, for all of an instant looking tired. "Robert would never go for it." He admitted, "You may have prevented the Lannister children from losing their parent for the moment, but Robert will see their heads on the spikes of his palace if it's the last thing he does. And because you took no action to stop it, it is _our_ children that will feel the loss."

They paused, looking at one another until Harry broke the silence. "It is not my job to correct the mistakes of your king, Ned. I am here for one purpose, and one purpose only. To make sure you come out of this alive. Do not mistake the actions I'm taking towards your wellbeing as anything other than that."

"And because you refuse to do anything other than this, you may have seriously endangered my life further. Do you think I will be more easily protected on the battlefield?"

Harry swallowed, "No."

"Then _why?_ "

Harry licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "I will not kill a Lannister without good reason."

Ned stood there, just looking at him, disappointment filling his eyes. He dropped his gaze and tugged on his gloves and strode towards the door. "Well, I just hope a battle turns out to be a good enough reason." He paused with his hand on the knob, but didn't turn back to face Harry. "I just can't think of a good enough reason why you would value them."

Harry flinched and stared blindly at the blue sky out of the window. "I guess," he murmured quietly, "that when you live as long as I have, you have history with a lot of families."

Ned didn't anything.

Harry waited until the sound of the door closing reached him before he let his head drop into his hands.


	11. Chapter 11

Kings Landing was everything and nothing like Harry remembered. It had been years since he'd been there, of course, so it was to be expected. But still. The layout had changed, not drastically, but enough that it knocked his sense of direction slightly askew. He kept trying to spot the landmarks of his memories and coming up against a house where there should be a shop, a road where there should be a building. The only thing that had stayed a constant unchanging anchor was the palace, its spires rising high over the surrounding rooftops.

The low town was busy with people – those not rich enough to live in high town – usually the servants and the cooks and the Lady's handmaidens. The buildings were tall and the streets narrow and winding. These were the workers houses and living area, a mess of uncoordinated alleys and wynds that they built themselves when the Targaryens first arrived and set up the capital.

It was easy to get lost in this place in those days, when the dark came.

Their party passed through with only a mild interest. This was the city of kings, and while an actual sighting of their ruler was something interesting, it happened often enough that only the very young and the very patriotic were staring.

The high town was a different story. There it was a mixture of workers keeping their heads down to avoid attention and the Lords and Ladies paying their respects with deep bows and curtseys.

Even the buildings were set out differently, their separation obvious. Only the wealthy and highborn lived here, and the biggest sign of their wealth was the show of land.

The sprawling houses were surrounded by large gardens of grass and flowers. Harry even spotted a small stream running through one that had to be man-made. The closer they got to the palace, the more luxurious the homes became. Some had their own private septs hidden away in a surrounding of trees.

Each and every one of them was built out of the same sandy stone and were separated into two parts. The people of Westeros couldn't escape the seasons, but they could prepare for them so they were only mildly discomforted when winter came.

The summer half was all open plan archways and tiled flooring. It got so hot in the south in the summer years that there was no need for walls. Instead curtains of gauze hung across the arches or, if more privacy was needed, tapestries.

When winter came the families moved to the back of the house where it was built to trap the heat. Thick stone walls hung with heavy cloth and huge fireplaces that never went out. The kitchen was buried in the very heart of it, the huge ovens providing warmth to the surrounding rooms.

And it worked.

Harry could remember owning one of these houses for a generation back when he had helped the Targaryens first conquer the lands. He hadn't expected anything, only wishing to keep his friends souls safe, but they had rewarded him with a knighthood anyway and gifted him with the house closest to their palace. Harry had found Brandon's soul residing in a beautiful blonde named Lysa and he'd taken her for a wife, even taken in three children to raise since he couldn't provide any for her on his own.

They'd been happy.

Lysa had died an old woman, holding Harry's hand and surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Harry had left soon after taking care of his family from a distance until they stopped remembering him.

He hadn't worn a white cloak since.

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts to find his eyes wet with tears. He glanced at Ned who was riding beside him, but the man was facing ahead with a grave look on his face. Their arrival at Kings Landing heralded a week long journey that had been filled with tense silences and frigid looks.

Ned didn't understand his choices. Maybe he would if Harry explained. But Harry didn't want to explain to Ned. Some things cut too close to the quick to not be treated with the respect they deserved. Airing them as part of an argument was not something Harry was willing to even consider.

He didn't talk about his past much, and when he did it was only with someone he trusted wholeheartedly.

He loved Ned as family but the man had duties as Warden and Lord and, though it pained him to admit it, Harry wasn't sure that Ned would not use the information if he thought it necessary.

There had been a time where Harry had thought to share some with Benjen, but that time had long passed.

Trust was a very different thing to love.

~*~

The palace was the very heart of the city, looming far above them as their horses moved closer. Like the rest of the city it was made of the same sandy stone but apart from that and the shape, Harry didn't recognise much.

There was a welcome party waiting for them, a small group of five men that Harry assumed to be the council.

His thoughts were proven correct when what could only be the Grand Maester stepped forwards and bowed stiffly – though from a matter of age, rather than unwillingness. "Your Grace," he said, his voice carrying for all that it wavered, "welcome home. We received your raven though, I admit, we found it hard to believe."

Robert swung down off his horse. Two weeks of hard riding and hard food was beginning to show in the way his clothing sagged a little around the belly and under the arms.

"Believe it, Maester Pycelle."

"But the queen," the old man said, straightening and turning to follow Robert as he strode past, "a traitor? Her brother having sired her heirs. And for us all to be fooled for so long…"

"Yes, thank you, Maester Pycelle."

Harry didn't manage to stop the snort of laughter in time. Luckily Ned was the only one close enough to hear and he shot a glare at Harry. Harry grinned at him before schooling his expression into something serious, or at least bored. He could get away with looking bored at the proceedings. He had a lot of experience.

He'd thought he'd gotten away with the exchange, but when he turned his attention back to the council two of the men were looking at him, shrewd glints in their eyes. One was bald, decked out in rich clothing and scents, the other had dark hair with just a touch of grey at the temples and speckled throughout his goatee.

He would have to keep an eye on those two.

Harry ducked his head, pretending to focus on his own dismount as a stablehand held the reins for him. When he looked up he saw that the group had already moved ahead without him, the man with the goatee talking quietly to Ned as they entered the main hall.

He followed after them. They probably weren't expecting him to join them in the council but Harry was going to invite himself anyway.

The biggest difference was the throne room. The dragon skulls that had once decorated the walls had long since gone, having been replaced with banners of the yellow and black sigil of House Baratheon. Harry could spot a few lighter strips of stone where the banners of House Lannister had probably hung.

Someone had, rather thoughtfully, taken them down so their king didn't have to see them.

Harry had no doubt that they would soon be covered in the banners of whatever House Robert took his next bride. Maybe this time he would even get a legitimate heir out of the entire farce.

With a small smile on his face, Harry trailed after the group, slipping into the small antechamber through the door that Ned was holding open for him. Robert ignored him completely and the others looked at him with confusion and suspicion.

Well, at least Ned didn't seem as angry with him anymore.

Harry grinned, leaning against the wall.

Let the war council commence.


	12. Chapter 12

Robert sank into his chair with a great sigh. It seemed that now he was back home all the weariness of the past two weeks had caught up to him all at once. In one drunken accident Harry had taken away the man's wife and children. And in this moment he looked more like a king than any previous times Harry had seen him. Harry found himself feeling a certain amount of grudging respect for the man.

Or maybe he just liked to see other people having bad days. Not that he would admit to that, it made him sound bitter.

The other men of the council fell into line around Robert, sinking into their seats with slightly more grace. Their eyes were for their king, all except the youngest man who looked strikingly similar to Robert and was eyeing Harry instead.

Harry winked at him; delighting in the wary expression he got in return, and turned his attention back to Maester Pycelle who had decided to start the proceedings.

"May I say that we're extremely delighted in having you present here, Your Grace. Why, I can't remember the last time you sat in on one of our meetings."

Ned looked shocked.

"Yes, yes," Robert brushed the man off, "let's get down to business shall we?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. He wished he could feel surprise, but he didn't. He'd already recognised the signs. Robert was a king who thrived in blood and war, not politics and peace. Give the man an easy throne and he'd spend it on feasting and whores – anything to distract him and get his blood pumping again. But give him the opportunity for battle and the fire would light in his soul.

The man was already looking fitter.

Harry had hoped he'd been wrong, it was why he'd urged Ned to try and talk his friend back from needless bloodshed. He saw now that it was never going to work. Robert would make war over this, and if there wasn't war on offer, then he'd make an excuse.

"I must say brother," the man whom Harry had winked at said, "It is wonderful to see your face again. It's just too bad that Stannis has already run away to his little island fortress, I'm sure he would have been delighted also. Between you and me," the man leaned closer and Harry caught himself mirroring the action, "he was getting a little uppity."

"Did he take many men, Renly?" Robert asked.

His brother shrugged. "Enough."

"Blast the man for a coward," Robert swore, "I could have used his swords."

"Wait a minute," Ned interrupted, "do you mean to say that you've never sat in on any of the meetings before this? Robert what were you thinking?"

"Come, Ned, these things just covered all the little fiddly details, counting coppers and the like. There are much more important things to do when ruling the kingdom."

"Like what?" Ned sounded like his entire view of his friend has been shaken. It's a little overdone if Harry's honest with himself even if he would like to know the answer to that question as well. Ned knows his friend and has done for a long time. Things like this shouldn't be so shocking. That or time has made Harry cynical.

"His Grace," said the man with the grey at his temples, "is not a man to trifle himself with the details."

Harry grinned. At least he'd be entertained keeping an eye on the man.

"Well said, Baelish," Robert thumped his hand on the table. "Now shall we get down to business? We've wasted enough time on pleasantries, or have we turned into women?"

"Well, I wouldn't want that kind of rumour to get out," Renly muttered.

"Quite," the bald man said, his voice soft as he folded his hands neatly in front of him, "so it is true, the queen sired all three of her children with her brother?"

"Yes, gods damn it, how many times is it going to be brought up? Surely your little spies have brought you the same news, Varys."

"One needs to check ones sources," Varys replied innocently, "you do, after all, wish us to go to war."

"Yes," Robert was getting exasperated. It was clear why he usually forwent these meetings. "Which is why I'm left wondering why we're all talking about it?"

"You must forgive us, Your Grace," Baelish said, "but you're talking about waging war against the Warden of the West."

"Lord Tywin is just a man," Maester Pycelle interrupted.

"But a man with the might of the Lannisters and the gold to back it up." Baelish countered. "With resources like that he'd just have to put out the word and mercenaries would flock to him."

"He'll still bleed like any other," Renly said.

"But he'll bleed out every soldier under his command before he'll let you anywhere near Casterly Rock." The last came from Ned. "A man protecting his family is a dangerous man indeed."

"So we strike before he can gather reinforcements," Robert declared.

"A mighty plan," Varys praised.

"And who shall strike with us?" Ned asked.

"The Houses will respond to a direct summon from their king." Robert brushed off Ned. "The question is not who will fight for us, but where we shall strike. The River Road is likely defended, at least up to the Golden Tooth. Riverrun is still in the hands of your wife's family, Ned. If we can get to there then we can set up a base camp and command centre." Robert grinned, "We'll run the bastards into the sea."

"Excellent!" Renly enthused. "There's nothing quite like a good blooding."

Harry snorted at the comment, drawing some glances. Harry doubted Renly had fought in anything more challenging than a mock battle at a festival. It was obvious in his childish excitement at the thought of the battlefield, whereas Robert and Ned both looked grim, even though Robert was pushing for this. Harry thought that the young man was going to push to be named Warden of the West if they ever managed to unseat Lord Tywin from Casterly Rock.

"And if they try for Kings Landing in your absence?" Ned asked.

"We'll call up the guardsmen, have them protect the city whilst we're gone in case they decide to try for the throne. Gods know we pay them for something."

"And how will you outfit this army of yours?" Ned asked, "Gods know we put away our armour hoping to watch it rust."

Robert waved a hand at Lord Baelish, "Baelish here is Master of the Coin."

For the first time, Harry saw the man look anything other than perfectly composed. "There might be a slight problem with that."

The other members of the council all looked away when Ned asked, "problem?"

"Ah, yes." Lord Baelish said, and then hesitated.

"Well man? Spit it out! We have more important things to do than quibble of money," Robert said.

"It seems, Your Grace, that the crown is in debt at the moment."

Harry straightened from his position leaning against the wall.

"Debt? _Debt?_ " Robert blustered.

"Yes, Your Grace." Baelish confirmed.

"To who?"

Lord Baelish did not bit his lip, Harry saw, but it was a close run thing. "To the Lannisters, Your Grace."

Harry laughed. Robert glared at him.

"How much?" Ned cut across the tension in the room.

"Six million gold pieces."

Harry laughed harder, even going so far as to wrap his arms across his stomach as he slid down to the floor. "Somehow," he choked out, "I don't think the Lannisters will pay your army to fight against them."

"Brother, is this really necessary?" Renly gestured towards Harry's prone form.

Robert looked like he would like to throw Harry out. Harry didn't blame him, he'd been less than welcoming to Robert, refusing to pander to the man. In fact, he wondered why Robert was letting him get away with such disrespect. The man was not one for taking slights.

Robert glanced at Ned and looked away. Refusing to answer his brother's question.

 _Ah,_ Harry thought, _well I suppose that answers that. Though I wonder what Ned has said to garner that response._

"The boy has a point," Maester Pycelle said quietly, "we need gold to pay for this war."

"So we take the gold for our own afterwards."

Baelish actually winced, "It's not quite that simple, Your Grace. Even though you have good reason, the other Houses will see you as waging war only to get the Lannisters fortune. They will become…"

"Antsy, Your Grace." Varys finished Baelish's sentence for him. "They will start to wonder what would stop you from declaring war on them."

"Bah, politics. I have good reason to march against the West and they know it."

"And yet…" Varys said, his eyes fixing on Harry who was still sitting on the floor and giggling, "One has to wonder why the queen would even admit to such a thing in the first place."

Harry returned the stare evenly, his giggles tapering off into silence.

"It seems a little farfetched that she would admit to such a thing when there was no suspicion levied against her. What would compel her to do such a thing and bring death clamouring after her family?"

Harry tilted his chin up. It would take more than they passive accusations of one man to get him to reveal his secrets.

Besides, it wouldn't make him look good if he said he was having a bad day and wanted someone else to have a bad day too.

"What does the why matter?" Robert blustered in confusion, "the fact is that she did admit and in front of a hall full of Starks men."

Varys hummed to himself and looked back to Robert. Lord Baelish and Ned took a little longer to return their attention back to the king.

"With that kind of backing," Maester Pycelle said, "there shouldn't be any trouble convincing the rest of the Houses to stand with you."

"So send out the ravens if you haven't already," Robert said, "I want this started today. Alert the city's blacksmiths and alchemists, we'll be taking them with us."

"A good decision, Your Grace," Pycelle nodded, "I will get right on it."

"And the money to pay for these things?"

Robert shook his head at Ned, "Baelish can fob them off for a time. Once we've started marching there's no way to abandon the fight without looking like a coward and a traitor."

Ned looked less than sure. Neither was Harry. Robert's plan way uncommonly naïve. There was plenty that could go wrong with it. If word got around that there was no payment, mutiny was a very real possibility. Less so if the soldiers liked their leader, of course, but still a possibility.

Harry wondered what sort of leader Robert was now and whether men would follow him as eagerly as they had done during the rebellion. After all, this was quite a bit different than an underdog fighting against the oppression of a mad king.

"Ned," Robert continued, "get word to your bannermen in the north. Call them to arms and have them start marching south now. We'll have to wait for Dorne to send their soldiers up here, but we can leave immediately once they arrive and pick up the rest from the east as we march."

"Your plan hinges on holding Riverrun," Ned said, "we'll need to send a contingency of soldiers to help the Tully's hold against whatever is thrown at them."

"Good thinking," Robert clapped him on the shoulder, "as my Hand you can get right on that."

"Don't forget we have Tyrion," Harry said quietly, "they may send someone to retrieve him." He only hoped that Lady Catelyn had done as he said and had already called the bannermen to arms.

The men quietened down.

"By gods I'd forgotten that," Robert breathed. "We should send someone up there."

"I trust my men," Ned replied stiffly.

"Of course, of course, but it never hurts to have a few good southern knights." Robert turned to his brother, "I'm sure you and a few of your friends would not turn down the opportunity."

Renly's lips thinned. Harry could see he wanted to badly argue but couldn't think of a way to do so without losing face. "Yes, Your Grace."

"Excellent." Robert clapped his hands, "Well, if that's all…?"

"Pardon me, Your Grace," Varys interrupted, "but there is a small matter of a wife an heir…?"

"Oh," for a moment Robert looked nonplussed, "well I'm sure I won't be short of women in that regard."

Varys smiled, "No, Your Grace. In fact, there is a suitable candidate already lined up. Margaery Tyrell, the only daughter of Lord Tyrell and his Lady wife, and the sister of Loras Tyrell. If it suits, Your Grace, you could be wed immediately and sire your heir before you leave for battle."

"Is she a maid?"

"Most certainly."

Harry wondered how Varys could be so certain, and then decided that he did not want to know.

"Then if there is no other pressing business," Robert said, "you all know what to do. I want to be mobile within the week." He turned a commanding glare on the men of his council. "Make it happen."


	13. Chapter 13

Kings Landing became even busier over the next few days with people pouring into the city from the closest reaches of Dorne. The first newcomers finding beds either by being housed by resident knights – if they were members of Houses – or in the local inns and whorehouses if they were lower down on the food chain.

The response to Robert's call-to-arms had been almost overwhelming. Everywhere knights and soldiers milled around the streets. Harry spotted the rather morbid crowned skull on a field of black that belonged to House Manwoody and the silver sword and falling star on a field of lavender that belonged to House Dayne as he was passing through high town.

However, the House Fowler had travelled the greater distance – their blue hawk on silver banners tattered from riding hard and quick. It was to be as expected. Harry assumed that the Martell's banner would soon be flooding the streets, bringing with them the bannermen from the east that would fight.

Not everyone would come, of course. But he was sure that someone, somewhere, was making a note of who sent what and how many. Probably Varys, if Harry thought about it. Or Lord Baelish.

If Robert knew what was good for him he would house the Lord Martell in the palace. He would be Robert's greatest supporter during this crusade. Revenge was a great motivator and Robert would do well to cater to it.

Harry made a note to remind Ned.

But it wasn't just the high town that was busy. The alchemists were in a tizzy over having to provide the demanded wildfire, but make it safe enough to transport without accidentally decimating half the riding force because of a bump in the road.

Harry had been present for that discussion. Well, present with the help of his cloak at least.

It was scarily easy to get into places he wasn't supposed to be in. Though it helped that nowadays people could have no way of knowing such a thing was possible.

The older knights however – the ones who had seen battle – did seem to be more paranoid when Harry spied on them. Glancing around and somehow knowing they were being watched. And Ned was the only one that managed to look right at Harry when he'd been spied on.

Harry's heart had leapt into his throat. It shouldn't really surprise him, considering who Ned was, but Harry had still snuck away at the first possible moment.

The blacksmiths were also working full pelt. All night and day the ringing of hammers on anvils could be heard throughout low town as the workers strove to keep up with demand.

It was hard going. Not only were they to fix any armour so it was more than battle worthy, but they were also to provide enough weapons that each man would have an extra on hand as well as getting their work stations mobile.

Over half of the cities blacksmiths had been drafted into Robert's troops. Not as soldiers, but as supporting members. The king had decided that he would need men on hand that were able to fix any problems.

Harry thought this a good idea. Retreating and desperate men had a tendency to destroy any and all things that the enemy could use against them.

It was also better for a man to break his own sword than to see it used against him. Even if it was just in an act of humiliation like the casting of the Iron Throne. Too many times had Harry seen friends and family cut down with their own weapon.

He didn't have any mistaken beliefs that this would prevent it from happening again.

Harry knew fine well that he was destined to watch the people he loved die.

A clattering of horses sounding from right behind him had Harry ducking into the nearest open doorway. Three men from the House of Uller passed by, laughing raucously and ignoring those they deemed beneath them dodge out of the way. Their red and yellow flamed banner proudly decorated their horses.

Harry's gaze followed them as they left. They were young and brash and their armour and blades did not have the markings of battle on them. Harry would be pleasantly surprised if they managed to live through their first skirmish, especially as they seemed to be the type to fight for honour and their own sense of pride.

Once they'd disappeared completely, Harry turned to take in his shelter. The blast of heat on his face told him straight away that he'd entered a forge, even though the ringing of iron on steel wasn't any louder than the matching sounds from outside.

Surprisingly it was big inside – the building stretching back quite a ways. There didn't seem to be anyone in charge. Behind a thick wooden bench there was a young, dark haired man. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his skin shone in the firelight, sweat darkening the tops of his trousers. It was probably the reason the door had been left open in the first place and Harry couldn't blame him, the heat from the open forge was making him sweat and he'd not even been in the room two minutes. This lad must have spent days here trying to keep up with the kings demands.

Right now he was working on what looked to be a spearhead and watching him suspiciously through the fall of his fringe. It wasn't quite a spearhead though and, despite everything, Harry found himself stepping closer to take a better look.

The man stopped altogether.

"Can I help you, Ser?"

Harry glanced up from the fascinating design – a curving three pronged thing that looked like it would stick in a man's body, rather than slide right back out again – and met his gaze.

"Oh, no. It's not Ser," he said, quirking a smile. "Call me Harry."

 _At least not anymore_ , he thought, _people would start asking who'd knighted me and that would bring up all sorts of awkward questions._

At his admission the young man's shoulders relaxed slightly. Harry felt a surge of pity for him. What kind of recent demands had he been subjected to that he would try and turn away custom? Unreasonable ones more like, though nothing was quite so unreasonable in wartime. And Harry doubted that the owner would be so willing to turn away a chance for gold.

"Gendry," was the gruff reply.

Harry bit his lip, but it was too tempting not to ask. "That spearhead you're working on. I've not come across anything quite of it's like."

Gendry looked pleased, "It's of my own design."

Harry's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Is it now? Well, pardon me for saying so but it looks like an oversized arrow head. I thought the point of a spear was to use as a long range weapon over a multiple of attacks." He gestured towards the metal, "one stab with that and it'd get suck."

Instead of getting offended like Harry thought he might, Gendry's expression became a mixture of smug and excited. Clearly he'd not been able to explain this to an interested party before. He was probably working on it without the master smith knowing about it. A risky thing when the entire city was gearing up for war.

"Normal spears yes, but this is designed to be used with an easily breakable shaft. One hit is all you're going to get."

"So you're left with a broken stick as you're weapon?"

"No, see. Spears are easily lost if a body falls the wrong way or pulled out of men's hands by a dying enemy. Then there's always a chance that someone on the other side will come along and pick it up and use against you. With this you get your one stab and the blade is unable to come out. The pull of the body breaks the shaft which you can then drop."

"Meaning the enemy is without bladed weapon and the person injured will die unless given medical attentions because it's not something you can pull out of the wound." Harry finished, impressed. "And this is of your own design, you said?"

"Uh, yes." Gendry flushed slightly, ducking his head. "Though Master Mott doesn't think it viable."

It wasn't. Not for this war. Not on the timescale Robert had given them. But a small amount for the first wave of attackers? Yes, that was doable.

"How many of these do you think you could knock out before we depart, if you had to? If this was all you were to do?"

Gendry looked surprised, but to his credit he gave the question some serious thought. "A couple of dozen? Maybe a few more."

"And if you had help?"

Gendry shrugged. "Depends on the help. But once they had the design down I can't see why it couldn't be a hundred or more."

Harry needed to let Ned know about this. It would be useful to have.

He turned back to the man, "What else have you done?"

Gendry grinned, "I made a helmet if you want to see?"

Harry smiled in return, "Nothing would please me more."


	14. Chapter 14

The Martell's arrived barely a few days later. Harry was discussing Gendry's designs and arguing their potential when the horses rode into the palace courtyard, their banners flowing proudly out behind. With them were the heads of all the major Houses of Dorne that had not arrived yet.

Harry was rather surprised by some of them. It seemed the idea of war had stirred blood in the men's veins, enough so they were willing to put aside old differences and work together.

He regretted that it took the opportunity of spilling blood to get a measure of peace.

The Lords disappeared through the Palace doors with just the briefest of nods in Ned's direction and weren't seen for two days. Whatever they'd discussed with Robert during that time stayed between them as Harry had absolutely no desire to seek out the information. It mattered not what terms they agreed on - on who would be given whose kill.

Harry had his own agenda and he would see it through whilst these children were playing their political games.

When the group finally did slink out of their private war council it was smiles and back slapping all around. Robert had struck a deal that had seemingly been profitable to both sides.

It wasn't hard to guess. Gregor Clegane was still a hated figure with House Martell and was sworn under the Lannisters.

Seemed like the Martell's would finally be getting their revenge after all.

No matter. Clegane was not someone Harry was indebted to protect. And if even just a part of the rumour of his actions were true, then he was not a man Harry was even partially interesting in preserving anyway.

Let the Martell's have their blood.

Renly had departed at almost the same time with a contingency of knights, heading straight for Winterfell to protect and guard the inhabitants. Harry had seen the young man off on his journey, watching as the knights jostled and called out to one another as their horses were being led into the yard.

They were loud and brash and so full excitement. Only Renly seemed withdrawn – likely because he knew what this task meant. The boy wanted to prove himself, it was plain to see, and this would get him no recognition unless the fight was brought to them.

He almost missed it. As his eyes were scanning over the group the ring on his finger began to burn, the Deathly Hallow having recognised someone.

Harry froze. Only Ron's soul was unaccounted for right now.

He let his gaze wander over the men again, paying more attention this time, until his eyes were drawn to a tall figure in plan steel. The ring burned and the knowledge that he'd found the soul of his friend once again settled deep into his bones.

Unable to help himself he moved closer, until he was standing just behind the man who was checking over the straps holding his saddle.

"Excuse me, Ser."

The man turned around and Harry got the first glimpse of his face, only to be mildly surprised that it was not a man at all, but a woman. Wisps of blonde hair stuck out from beneath her helmet, framing her rather pretty blue eyes. Freckles dusted across her nose which, Harry noticed, had been broken at some point or other.

_Well then._

The woman frowned, shifting and looking uncomfortable. "I'm not a Ser."

Harry smiled, "My apologies. May I enquire after your name?"

There was a pause, and Harry started to believe that he wouldn't get any sort of response at all until the woman ducked her head. "Brienne of Tarth."

His head tilted to the side, Harry looked her over. She was clearly uncomfortable and, for once, Harry didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable. Especially someone he was hoping to befriend.

"Brienne," he said, committing the name to memory, "and you're travelling to Winterfell?"

"I asked Lord Renly if I may accompany…" she trailed off, a slight blush adorning her cheeks. "That is to say, I have proven myself in tournaments before."

With her height and build Harry had no doubt that the woman was an excellent warrior. He had a feeling that if he pointed out those things, though, that she would take them as criticism over her perceived lack of femininity.

Both men and women got touchy when you pointed out they didn't fit into society's social labels.

Harry hoped Brienne found herself soon.

"I'm sure you can outfight most of the men here," he said instead and bowed to her, "please protect my family while I cannot do so myself."

"I…I will do my best."

The reply was hesitant and shocked, but Harry just smiled at her, delighting when she gave him a small smile in return.

"It's all I can ask for."

Renly and his group left soon after. Harry watched them go with a considering look on his face. He wished he had the time to make Brienne happy, but his attentions were pulled elsewhere.

If she survived the battle Harry would carry on and make her life as easy as possible.

_Until then…_

He raised a hand in farewell when Brienne glanced behind her, just as they were hidden from sight.

~*~

With the arrival of the rest of the Dornish Houses, Kings Landing had become ridiculous. There was not a free bed to be found in the city. The soldiers had taken to setting up tents outside the walls and sleeping rough.

And, as would always happen in an overcrowded city, fights were breaking out regularly. The guardsmen had their work cut out for them in trying to control the skirmishes. They were effective against the common man who had no more experience of fighting than knuckles in a pub brawl, but put them against those that had been trained and they were almost overwhelmed.

The only one who even seemed moderately pleased with what was occurring was Lord Baelish. Money was pouring into the city through the demand for food, drink and sex, bumping up the economy by a significant amount.

And as the man who owned over half the brothels in Kings Landing, Baelish was probably making a fortune.

He still looked at Harry with calculation in his eyes.

Luckily the army was mobilised almost immediately and Harry was free of whatever plans the man was making. Robert wanted to set out before help could arrive. Letters had been sent to the Greyjoy's in the Iron Islands commanding them to block off the Lannisters escape by sea. Replies had been received that they had understood the command, but Robert had been wary – expressing his doubt to Ned.

Privately Harry agreed. The Greyjoy's were proud. The Iron Islands adverse to slavery of any kind, including being indentured to the king. But they had been wronged by the Lannisters too.

Ultimately, it came down to what they perceived the greater wrong having been done to them. Slavery or the death of the heir in combat.

For all their pretty words, Harry doubted that they would lift one finger to help the throne. But he was only human – he'd been wrong before.

It was the evening of the tenth day since Harry had arrived in the city that he received word that they would be riding out in the morn.

This was it.

Harry only hoped that he could do everything that needed doing.

~*~

The day dawned bright. The sky a cloudless expanse of blue above them.

Out in the palace courtyard gathered the heads of all the gathered Houses, their armour shining in the sun. Harry sat on his horse, next to Ned and half in the shadows of the wall. No one was sparing him a glance.

Robert was standing next to his own steed, giving a rousing speech filled with honour and glory.

Harry rolled his eyes, his attention drifting to thoughts of Winterfell and the Wall. He hoped everything was fine and that everyone was still alive. To think that Hermione, Ron and Luna's souls were all going to be together once again.

It was odd in a way, but still an extremely welcome thought.

His gaze slid sideways to Ned, sitting stiffly upright. The man looked ready for battle.

If only he knew.

Harry sighed, drawing Ned's attention.

"Harry?" The man questioned quietly, not wanting to interrupt the ending of Robert's speech.

"What's better," Harry murmured, "to try and fulfil a friend's past or present demands?"

Ned frowned, "Can you not fulfil both?"

Harry looked at his friend and shook his head sadly, "This time, I fear not."


	15. Chapter 15

The ride north was slower than the journey south. It wasn't for lack of trying on Robert's part, if it were up to him they would already be laying siege to Casterly Rock.

No. This was due entirely to the constraints of travelling with a large army. The knights and Lords were on horseback, keeping to the front, but over half of their soldiers were travelling on foot, stretching back miles behind them. The blacksmiths took up the rear, their heavy tools trundling along on carts.

They had slowed the pace to a brisk trot, but even still it was slow going. Robert had wanted to push ahead straight away, not caring about arriving in force – just wanting to avenge his pride. Ned had had to council the man. They did not have the means to swap out every horse for something fresh. The mounts they had now were trained war horses. They would have to last the journey and arrive undamaged for them to be any use.

Harry could have run there faster, but the sad truth was that he was better off here – keeping an eye on the king and his plans. He'd already been to two strategy meetings so far, held around a campfire of all things.

They were a bit useless. From experience Harry knew that any plans now would be useless. Without knowing the terrain, the defences laid against them or even the weather it was all just speculation.

 _Though,_ Harry thought, _I suppose it makes them feel a little better._

Indeed, the younger knights and Lordlings always seemed more calmed after such talks.

Robert knew how to lead. Harry would give him that.

The summer weather had held and Robert ordered tents to be unused, instead sleeping underneath the canopy of stars. It made for a quicker departure in the mornings, even if some of the Lords had complained at first, believing it to be beneath them.

Robert had ignored them. It was a decision that Harry respected him for.

Their caravan was also getting longer. The word had spread extremely effectively and increasing numbers of soldiers from other Houses joined them as they passed by their lands.

It seemed to Harry that nearly everyone had a grudge against the Lannisters. Or maybe they wanted a chance to take the Golden Tooth for their own. Not all of the men appearing belonged to Houses that supported Robert. They were just using him as a means to further their own prestige.

He found it sad, that the Lannisters could be turned against so easily, but alliances were fickle and so were men's hearts. It seemed only the Starks could be counted on to act with honour. And Harry.

Though right at this moment he was teetering on breaking his promise – leading an army straight to the Lannisters doors.

He felt ill at the thought of it, at the thought of what would happen if he failed.

At the thought of what would happen if he succeeded.

Ned would probably forgive him eventually – if he let Harry explain – but their friendship was not going to be the same after this.

Whatever happened – something was going to die.

It was a morose thought and Harry couldn't help brooding over it with every mile they travelled. Ned noticed his silence, of course, but left him to it. His own preoccupation with worrying about his family and controlling their men taking precedence.

Harry wished he could comfort him.

000

The broke for the night when the sun had finally sunk beneath the horizon, painting the sky in reds and streaking the clouds gold. Harry enjoyed the irony.

He slipped off his horse and handed the reins to one of the boys they'd brought along to make sure the animals were healthy. Behind him the soldiers came to a slow stop and Harry heard quite a few sighs of relief from the weary marchers.

Leaving them to set up their fires and cook their meals, Harry moved away, taking in his surroundings. The path north curved sharply to the left fifty feet on, so much so that when he followed it, he couldn't see the rest of the caravan at all – even the sounds they were making were muffled by the trees.

They were passing through one of the few densely wooded areas that still existed in the South. Vast swathes of trees stretched out in all directions, hemming them in. When they had first come up against it there had been some talk about going around it, but it would have put them miles out of their way and added weeks onto their journey. The quickest way was through and so that had been the route they'd taken.

With the sun gone the shadows were rapidly darkening. Already Harry could barely see ten feet into the trees and soon all that would be visible would be that which the firelight touched upon.

A breeze stirred through the leaves and somewhere close by a branch snapped. It was unnerving.

The perfect place for an ambush.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to see that Ned, Robert and a few others had followed his path and had joined him in the secluded area.

"We were just about to discuss if we should head to the trident, or try to break off sooner and cut across the land. Would you care to join us?" Ned continued.

"Yes, of co-" the sound of another branch cracking cut him off, but this time there was another sound underneath it – a faint whisper of something else. He peered into the darkness, trying to pinpoint it.

"Harry?" Ned sounded wary.

"Do you hear that?" Harry asked.

The other men glanced between each other, looking confused.

"No," one of them offered, "hear what?"

The sound came again, this time clearer – the faintest creaking of wood and breathing. Harry's eyes widened but he didn't have time to call out a warning before the flash of a blade took him completely by surprise and opened up his throat.

He choked, blood spraying in an arc from his jugular with every frantic heartbeat, hitting his attacker in the face and painting it red. He fell to his knees, grasping at the torn flesh, trying to pin it back together to stop the blood from escaping. The man grinned at him, watching him struggle to breathe without drowning.

Distantly Harry heard a roar and a faint ringing noise and then the man's eye sprouted Ned's sword – the blade of which exploded out of the back of his head.

Blood bubbled past his lips, hot and metallic, as he slipped to his side and rolled onto his back. He blinked as his vision doubled; grey seeping in at the edges, but it didn't diminish the amount of men that he could see. It wasn't until he recognised that the men were fighting that he realised the dead man had not been acting alone.

He couldn't hear anything.

His body was getting too heavy to move, his hands pawing ineffectually at the burning brand that his neck had turned into.

There was a flash of silver that Harry recognised as Ned's sword, arcing in a beautiful display of deadly accuracy as it took an attackers head off…

…and then nothing.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry woke, choking on the blood pooling at the back of his throat. He rolled over, spitting and gagging into the dirt.

_Wow, okay. Didn't expect them from that direction. They were actually pretty good._

He put his hand to his throat, feeling the tender skin and warm blood under his fingers. Harry couldn't have been out for more than a few seconds.

To his side the last of the attackers was being dealt with in a permanent way – Robert's sword sliding easily through his stomach and out through his spine. He dropped, gasping and writhing, onto the ground, his hand spasming around his sword grip.

Ned stood separate from the rest of Robert's group, his pale face dominated with wide eyes. He looked shaken, the knuckles on his sword hand white and breathing heavily. The rest of the men behind him didn't look any different.

Harry stood. It took him a second or two longer than it usually would to shake off the light-headed dizziness that accompanied blood loss of a large volume. Ned's gaze snapped to him as he straightened, brushing the dirt off his shirt.

"Harry…"

At the sound of Ned's voice the other's looked over and paled. Harry could see the fear in their eyes, could practically smell it in the tang of their sweat.

"Ned," Harry tried to say. It came out more like "Nnnungh" than anything else and Harry cleared his throat, hocking up the rest of the blood and spitting it to the side. He could still taste the steel of his attacker's blade.

"Ned," he said again. Pleased when the word cooperated this time.

Ned took a step towards him and then hesitated, looking lost. "I—"

"What sorcery is this?" One of the men cut across him. Harry recognised the crowned skull emblem of House Manwoody.

"No sorcery," Harry said, wiping the blood from his chin, "they missed."

Lord Manwoody snarled and in a blink of an eye had closed the distance between them and brandished his bloody sword.

Harry glanced between the blade pressing against the line of his throat and the man's eyes. "Do you wish to make your own go of it?"

The sound of clashing steel cut off Manwoody's reply as Ned swept the sword from Harry's neck with his own, placing himself squarely between the two of them. Harry blinked as his vision was overtaken by a close up of Ned's cloak.

"Put down your weapon, Lord Dagos." Ned sounded calm, but no one could deny that threat that lay behind it. This was not the demand of an equal; this was the demand of the Kings Hand.

"You must see reason!" Lord Manwoody exclaimed, even as his weapon lowered. "The boy was dead and now he isn't."

"And I am grateful for that."

"He isn't _human._ "

Ned gave him no quarter. "And what, pray tell, does that make him then?"

Lord Manwoody spluttered, "Well he…I…"

"Surely you can think of something," Ned said. "If he isn't human then he must be something. What is it?"

No one said anything, but Harry knew what they were thinking. Knew that right now, every man standing on that road was remembering the tales of White Walkers and other things they had passed off as merely legend.

None of them voiced their thoughts aloud. The idea was too ridiculous, even though they'd seen it with their own eyes.

"I _don't know,_ " Manwoody eventually snarled. "But it's dangerous."

There was an uncomfortable silence for the space of three heartbeats, and then Manwoody straightened. "Keep your thing leashed, Stark," he said, before twirling and stomping back down the road heading for camp.

The other men hesitated for a moment or two longer but followed after him without voicing anything until only Robert was left.

Ned's sword dropped as his shoulders slumped. Harry thought it the perfect moment to step out of his shadow, only to find Robert's calculating gaze spearing him.

Harry waited for him to say something. He didn't have to wait long."

"That blade split your throat open."

It was said with such certainty that Harry didn't even bother trying to deny it. Instead he shrugged, tamping down a grimace as his cooling blood-soaked shirt moved against his skin.

"And yet here you stand…" Robert stared at Harry for a second longer before turning his attention to Ned. "We will talk about this."

Ned nodded and watched as Robert left. Then he turned on Harry.

"What sort of _foolish, idiotic_ stunt were you trying to—"

"Sorry!" Harry said brightly, darting around Ned's form and deftly stepping over the dead bodies lying in the middle of the road. "Gotta go change my shirt and what not. You should get someone to move these things. Also beef up security, not one of the men came to investigate the fight and there could be more spies hiding in the woods."

" _Harry!_ "

Harry waved over his shoulder and jogged around the corner, cutting Ned from his sight. He gained a lot of wide eyed looks as his blood-soaked form slipped between the campfires, but no one spoke to him.

Ned would follow, of that he was sure, and they would talk then when he had calmed down from the battle.

He picked at his sodden shirt. Until then, he needed to change.

~*~

The small campfire did an absolutely wonderful job at chasing away the cold night air. Harry sipped at his mug of ale, sitting on the log he had surreptitiously conjured away from prying eyes. He hadn't seen Ned since he had made his escape, though Manwoody had passed by earlier with a glare.

Harry had smiled and waved at him until the man had left in a huff to join Robert's campfire just a little way aways.

The rest of the men ignored him. When they did manage to catch his eye their expressions were guarded.

The night was as quiet as it was going to get. Over the hiss and pop of his fire, Harry could hear the hush of soldier's quiet conversations and laughter. And, underneath it all was the simmering tension of men on their guard.

The woods were empty now.

Harry swirled his drink, watching as the light turned the liquid golden. He didn't startle when Ned sat down next to him, holding himself stiffly. Nor did he say anything, content with letting Ned work over the words.

A flake of burning ash lifted from the log, floating skyward on the updraft.

"Why?" Ned said at last. "Why would you do that? What possible reason would you have for—"

"Ned," Harry interrupted quietly, "may I ask you a question?"

Ned was almost vibrating with tension. "You may."

Harry chewed at his bottom lip. There had been a distance between them lately and he didn't want to exacerbate it. He had to choose his words carefully. Get Ned calm enough to accept his decision. "When I went down," he said "what was the first thing that went through your head?"

Ned was silent.

"You knew I couldn't die." Harry continued, pressing the point. "Yet you killed my attacker before he could do anything else to me. What were you feeling at that precise moment?"

Ned's jaw worked, his hands balling to fists on his knees before he ducked his head. "Terror."

"Because…?" Harry encouraged.

"I forgot."

Harry smiled.

"I forgot that you couldn't die," Ned spat out quietly. "I saw you and the blood and I—" he cut himself off, spine straightening, breathing shallow and lips pressed into a thin line.

Harry gestured at the almost silent group surrounding Robert's fire. "And them?" He asked, "The others who didn't know? Who saw me go down drowning in my own blood? What do you think they were feeling?"

A log in the fire popped loudly. Someone nearby let out a loud laugh. Harry ignored it, leaning closer to his friend, dragging Ned's attention away from the group of sombre men.

"Ned," Harry said quietly, "the others didn't see me die," he stopped and held his gaze. "They saw their sons die."

Ned twitched, and Harry laid a hand on his forearm, squeezing gently.

"This isn't a game," he continued. "They've come to the realisation that it's not just their life on the line – it's their children's as well. It's all very well to say, and believe, that you will give your life on the command of your king, but would they give their child's life for the same reason?"

Ned dropped his gaze and said, very slowly "Do you hope to stop this, before it has even started, by breaking Roberts ranks?"

Harry patted Ned's arm, sitting back and taking a sip of his drink. "It has already started," he admitted. "First blood has been spilt and it was my own. There's no going back now."

Ned looked at him and Harry smiled wryly.

"But better mine than Robb's, eh?"

"Don't say that," Ned frowned.

Harry waved him off. "Never mind. What about the men?"

Ned sighed and leant forwards, his hands dangling between his knees. He looked tired. "From what we can tell they were mercenaries. Probably sent by the Lannisters to spy on our men and bring back numbers and our location."

"Makes sense," Harry nodded, "They were too well armed for civilians and too brash for thieves."

"What we can't figure out is why they attacked, especially if they were only supposed to gather intel. We would have never known they were there."

Harry took another drink. "Ah, yeah," he said, "I think that might have had something to do with me."

Ned slowly turned his head, his eyes blank.

Harry smiled awkwardly. "I knew they were out there, so I may have…drawn their attention to the fact that I knew."

"You did it on purpose." Ned's voice was flat. "You baited them into attacking you."

"I couldn't let them get away!" Harry spluttered.

"You could have gone after them on your own," Ned continued. "But you didn't. You drew us away and baited them in front of Robert and the Lords and, in the process, revealed yourself."

"Well…" Harry said thoughtfully, "when you put it like that you make me sound manipulative."

Ned's jaw worked for a moment. "You're not going to tell me why, are you."

It was a statement, not a question. Harry tapped his fingers on his mug. "The Tyrell's," he said at last. "Their daughter is now married to Robert."

"I know. I was there for the wedding which, I noticed, you were not."

Harry scoffed, "I have better things to do with my time. Besides, I found that nice blacksmith with his fascinating designs."

Ned cleared his throat.

"Anyway," Harry cleared his throat, "yes. Them. Did you know Lord Tyrell had been pushing Robert to marry his daughter for a while? He practically orchestrated the whole thing."

"What?"

Harry hummed. "For power or some such."

Ned's gaze flickered over to the large man dressed in green sitting between Robert and Lord Manwoody. The gold thread of his rose emblem glinting in the firelight. He was looking at Harry, his expression serious and his face drawn.

"So you got your throat cut..."

"Because he knows I belong to you." Harry said. "And if he had any designs against taking the position of the Kings Hand after you suffered from an unexpected accident, he now knows that not even death can stop me."

Ned stared at him. Harry finished his drink and put the mug down.

"A man doesn't need to be good a wielding a sword if he can't die. Eventually, he's going to be the only one left standing."


	17. Chapter 17

The rest of the journey was fraught with tension. After the attack, the soldiers were on full alert, often snapping at one another when it got too much. It became commonplace to see men being disciplined by their commanding officer.

Harry tried to ignore it, but the wolf in him bristled at the perpetual threat of violence hanging in the air. More often than not he found himself pacing the campsite at night, unnerving the soldiers and making things worse.

He longed to be able to slip away and change – revel in the feeling of being free – but Lord Tyrell and Lord Manwoody were always watching him now. Their hands resting on the sword pommels whenever he was around.

Harry took great pleasure in making them twitch. Smiling charmingly and standing close to them whenever Robert and Ned were discussing their plan of action. He knew he shouldn't. The wolf saw them as prey and with each passing day that he indulged himself it was getting harder and harder not to start the hunt.

But it was worth it. Ned would be kept safe. The kings favour was good enough to protect him against those who would bring accusations to his door, and Harry was now enough to threaten any underhand methods.

They were slowly drawing closer to their destination and, surprisingly to some, had not been attacked since. Harry didn't find the lack of enemy action worrying though. The men who had attacked him were not scouts sent to gather information for a raiding party. By the time they were missed it would be too late.

Lord Harroway's town was not as pleased to see them a second time in as many months. War was in the air and the people could feel it. But it was there, at the start of the River Road, that they met up with the gathered forces from the north and east.

Fewer men had answered the call, though that was to be expected. The Martell's had a score they wanted to settle and had called up every man they could. The men that had arrived made up half of what they already had.

The east was still mourning the death of Jon Arryn, the king's previous Hand, and was currently subjected to the whims and fancies of his young son. The north also had a scant turn out. Harry took it to mean that Lady Catelyn had been successful in her recruiting of Stark's bannermen.

Robert didn't seem that upset by the turn out, though with ten thousand Dornishmen marching at his back Harry supposed he didn't need to.

~*~

It took a further two days to arrive at Riverrun. Despite the threat of war looming over the Tully's, they'd kept the dams closed, opening up their fortress to visitors.

They were greeted by a redheaded rider who identified himself as Ser Edmure Tully. Harry could see the familial resemblance between Edmure and Catelyn. He kept himself back as Ser Edmure had a whispered conversation with Robert and Ned before the man wheeled his horse around and disappeared.

Ned picked his way over as Robert went to confer with the rest of his war council.

"Riverrun is too small to host fifteen thousand men," he said quietly, "but Ser Edmure has assured us that the weather will hold. The men shall have no trouble camping outside for another night or two."

The men in question were piling up behind them, slowly arriving and being ordered to set up camp. This was to be their main base from now on. It was a few days' ride from Casterly Rock, but the only place closer was the Golden Tooth and that was held firmly in the grips of the Lannisters. It would take more than a few Dornishmen to rip that goldmine from the lion's paws.

Harry scratched at his cheek, his gaze running over the triangular fortification that sat in the fork of two rivers. "And the Lords?"

"Shall be hosted. Robert plans to talk with Ser Edmure as soon as possible. Apparently the Tully's have been sending out small scouting parties and have come into some valuable information. I would like to see you there, to get your take on it."

Harry nodded and followed Ned across the drawbridge and into Riverrun itself. The walls towered above them, and everywhere there were men with weapons in their hands and suspicion in their eyes.

Ned quickly led them to the chamber they were conferring in, ignoring Tully's men. Inside Ser Edmure, Robert and the rest of them Lords were standing around a table holding a detailed map of the west of Westeros.

Only Lord Manwoody looked up at their entrance, and he scowled when he saw who it was. Harry waggled his fingers at him in the most obnoxious wave he could muster.

"We received your raven quickly, Your Grace," Ser Edmure was saying, "and sent out men at once to gather intel. One party managed to reach Lannisport and returned to report that the water is full of Greyjoy's ships. The Lannisters will not be escaping that way any time soon."

Harry breathed a quiet sigh.

_I guess revenge was more important than having to kneel before a king._

"And the Gold Road?" Robert demanded. "What news of that?"

Ser Edmure nodded at Lord Tyrell. "We received word that the men of The Reach have it in its entirety. No one passes through that way to Kings Landing."

"Well of course," Tyrell said pompously, "What did you expect? My men know what they're doing. I would not fail you in this."

The last part was addressed to Robert, but the man was too busy thinking to reply. "What about Clegane?"

The Tully shrugged. "I assume that The Hound is being the ever faithful servant as always," he said, "but as for The Mountain…" his gaze flickered to the rapidly darkening face of Lord Martell, "we have no reports on him. It's possible that he is with Lord Tywin."

"You promised me his death." Martell spat at Robert.

Robert turned on the southern Lord, furious, causing the man to step back half a pace. "And you shall _have_ it."

There was an awkward stalemate until Martell jerked his gaze away.

"Unfortunately, after that Tywin Lannister started to mobilise his men and we haven't been able to get anyone near to Casterly Rock," Edmure continued. "In the past week we sent two raiding parties out – only one returned."

"And what did they report?" Robert asked, his eyes darting between the Tully and the map.

"They didn't manage to get very far." Edmure leant over and traced a line next to the Golden Tooth. "They have a first line of defence here. The River Road passes through the mountains, but right here-" he tapped the map, "is open ground. That's where they are."

Ned frowned. "Not much of a tactical advantage. Why not lose ground and block the road in the pass?"

Edmure glanced at him, lips twisting into a wry smile. "They do." He dragged his finger to the halfway point between Golden Tooth and Casterly Rock. "It seems that most of their army is waiting here. My men reported that they spotted Jaime Lannister himself leading them."

"Makes sense," Harry said, moving closer to the map so he could remind himself of the geography. "They're sacrificing the first lot to wear us out and thin our numbers."

"And what would a boy know of these things?" Edmure asked, his voice incredulous.

Harry ignored him; his finger trailed the path they would be taking. "I've used this tactic before. The enemy thinks that the first wave is your only defence and spends all their energy on destroying it. Then they move on, flush with victory and guards lowered, only to walk straight into your main fighting force." He looked Robert in the eye, "It usually only works if the enemy is overconfident in themselves and can believe that you are scrambling to throw an adequate line together."

Robert nodded, his expression serious, "And would there be a third line?"

"No," Harry said, "I wouldn't have thought so. Not with Jaime leading them. The terrain doesn't allow it either. If they do have another line it is within Casterly Rock itself."

_Protecting Cersei and her children._

It was going to be difficult. If the Tully's men were correct then Jaime planned to meet them in battle and Harry had no idea how he was to keep an eye on both he and Ned. Greyjoy's ships provided another challenge, but one that could hopefully be overcome with the help of magic. It would be a challenge to smuggle them out and get them on open water, but once he did they could skirt around the south coast and head across the Narrow Sea to relative safety.

Tywin would stay at Casterly Rock no matter what happened. The man was practically destined to die holding that seat.

Harry would just have to convince Robert that execution was not the diplomatic answer to a man that was protecting his home and family. Hopefully Robert would see sense. If not Harry would have to recruit Ned to convince him as well.

His attention snapped back to the room when the Lords began leaving the room, chatting amongst themselves. Ned jerked his head towards the door.

"Oh, Stark," Edmure called out after them, "I completely forgot. I received word from my sister a few days ago."

"Catelyn?"

Edmure nodded and pulled out a rumpled looking piece of parchment. Ned took it and opened it carefully, his eyes running quickly over the words before going back to the beginning and reading it again more slowly.

"I'm so sorry," Edmure murmured.

A cold fist of dread formed in Harry's stomach. "Ned?"

Ned folded the missive carefully. "Renly and his cohort have arrived at Winterfell without problems."

Harry stared, "What else?"

"Harry, I—"

"What. Else."

Ned bowed his head, gaze trained on the floor, "there is news from the Wall."

Harry twitched, "Ben, is he…"

"My brother was lost on a raiding party north of the wall."


	18. Chapter 18

Harry sat with the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. Electric prickles crawled under his skin – a net of pain that made him want to claw his skin off, if only to have a moment's respite.

It was hard to breath. A lifetime of death and the news still managed to punch the breath from his lungs.

_Lost. What does that even mean? Does it mean he's missing? Dead? He took a shuddering breath, Is this how it ends?_

And then, quieter, _Could I have stopped it?_

It was stupid to wonder, to ask the what-ifs, to go back over every decision he'd made to see if he could have prevented this. If he'd killed the Lannisters, then he would have followed Benjen back to the wall and Ben wouldn't now be...

Or if he'd gone with Rickard and Brandon at the mad king's behest, they wouldn't have died, Ned wouldn't be Lord and Ben wouldn't have taken the black.

Hell…if he hadn't made that stupid promise.

If he hadn't become Master of Death.

If he'd chosen to die when he was offered the chance.

His life was just a series of mistakes, one after the other, and the consequences of them. And that's what life was. He understood. He did. But there should be an end. There should.

He was tired of being unable to escape the consequences of his bad choices.

Love was all very well and good. But he wanted more. He wanted to grow old with the soul he loved. He wanted to go on the next great adventure with them by his side.

He wanted to not be the reason his loved ones stuck around life after life. Dying and gaining their previous memories in limbo and coming back. He wanted them to be happy, not obligated. He wanted…

He wanted.

The breath escaped him in one big rush. Beyond the darkness he could hear the soldiers moving about, the chatter and friendly teasing and the laughter. He could hear the sound of the blacksmiths hammers, making the final preparations for fifteen thousand men. He could hear the whispered prayers.

It was the sound of life. Of men living, planning to live and preparing contingencies and Harry was completely removed from it all.

He needed no preparation. He needed no contingency. Magic had forsaken him a long time ago, leaving him with only its weeping image.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He whispered.

"Doing what?"

The reply startled him into jerking his head up. He had to blink a few times to clear his vision of black starbursts, but when he did he was confronted with Gendry, his embarrassment turning into sullenness.

"Pardon?"

"You asked and I wasn't even doing anything to you," Gendry said.

"Oh." Harry couldn't help the small laugh. It took him by surprise. "Oh, no. I wasn't talking to you."

Gendry narrowed his eyes at Harry and then slowly looked around, pointing out the distinct lack of visual companions anywhere near them without having to say a word. Harry found himself grinning. The boy couldn't be much older than Robb or Jon and had the brash surliness of a teenager who thought adults were idiots down to a fine art.

Not that Gendry knew how old he was.

_It's probably why he's acting his age with me. I'm not an adult or the Master Smith. Just a boy a few years older than him._

"Then who were you talking to?"

Harry waved his hand, gesturing to everything and nothing. "The gods. The _old_ gods." He clarified.

"The ones with the trees?" Gendry moved closer, curious, "My mother told me about them."

"She did, did she?"

"Yeah. She didn't pray to them, though. She said they were too sad and she had enough sadness in her life."

"A wise decision."

Gendry nodded and then looked uncertain – shifting from foot to foot. For the first time Harry noticed that he was carrying a spear in his hand, its vicious point glinting in the late afternoon sun. It was one of Gendry's design, the shaft tapering to a fragile thickness.

Harry let him work out what he wanted to say. After a few more beats of silence, Gendry burst out with "Do you think I should pray?"

Harry blinked.

"It's just that," Gendry continued, "they're saying we're marching tomorrow. To battle. And a lot of the others are praying. And…and I'm coming too. So…"

"You can pray if you want, Gendry. It's usually done for comfort – to bring about inner peace."

"But…but what if I maybe don't believe…?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't think it matters."

Gendry was staring, his hands twisting nervously on the spear shaft. "They…" he hesitated, "the men said you died. Got your throat cut and died and came back."

Harry dipped his head.

Gendry's voice lowered, enough so Harry had to lean forwards to hear. Around them the sounds of camp life dulled to background noise. "You died?"

"I did."

"Does it hurt?"

Harry's throat closed. "Dying?"

Gendry nodded, face tipped towards the ground so his black hair shadowed his eyes.

"Not at all."

Their eyes met and Harry could see everything – the fear, the bitter uncertainty, the courage, the determination and the blind trust of a child wanting to believe.

He saw himself.

"Faster than falling asleep."

~*~

They set off next morning. Harry was near the front his horse riding alongside Ned's. He could feel Ned's gaze on him, smell the tang of worry. But there was nothing he could say or do which would make it better. He hoped Ned wouldn't ask because he didn't know what to say and any denial would be an obvious lie.

After Gendry had left last night, Harry had been unable to sleep. He'd spent the night alone, staring at the dog star and twisting the resurrection ring around his finger.

Now they were marching. This was it. This was the start of everything. The moment that Harry knew he would probably be adding to his list of regrets.

He took a deep breath.

By the end of today a lot of good men were going to be dead.


	19. Chapter 19

The field of battle was an open space sequestered in the shadows of the surrounding mountains. The tents and campfires blocking off the path showed that the Lannister men had been waiting for them here a long time. Possibly weeks if the pile of animal bones tossed on the small midden had any say in it.

Likely they had expected raidings from Riverrun before this and had grown complacent when they did not appear. There had been no scouts, no watches over the road. Instead the men were here, preparing for their midday meal.

When Robert's army poured through the narrow pass, the difference between the two groups would have been laughable, if it wasn't so tragic. Two thousand men dressed in red and gold against the fifteen thousand Robert commanded.

The Lannisters scrambled up. Harry could hear the shouts and calls for weapons and armour, watching as the men prepared and mounted their horses.

It seemed Robert – for all of his stubbornness about this crusade – still had an inkling of honour in battle. Choosing to face his foe in an honest fight, rather than charging them whilst they still had their breeches around their ankles.

Harry could taste the bitter tang of fear as each side lined up. These men were the first wave. The ones to which Robert was supposed to break his teeth on. It was doubtful whether the Lannisters had expected the Dornish force that had turned out, but Harry gave credit where credit was due – not one of the men wearing red broke ranks and ran.

They were outnumbered and outmatched. They knew that they would most likely die, and yet their loyalty and courage was – in this moment – unsurpassed.

If ever men who died deserved to wear red and gold, it was these.

Harry scanned their faces, not recognising any of them. They would die traitors for trying to preserve the lives of their Lords family. At best they could hope for an unmarked grave, to be forgotten in time.

Beside him, Ned's horse shifted.

"I do not like this." Ned said, his voice low so it would not carry to any of Roberts little group of followers.

"Too late now."

On some unseen signal, Robert kicked his mount, trotting forward to the middle. Ned made a noise of frustration and went after him. From the other side, two men also rode forward to meet the king and his Hand to discuss terms and possible surrender.

At the distance Harry couldn't hear what they were saying, not without alarming the horse he was currently sitting astride. But the body language was plain to read. Discussions were not going well – both parties too stubborn.

They couldn't have been talking more than a minute before each one jerked their horse around and rode back to their own side.

Ned shook his head at Harry's inquisitive glance as he settled back into his place in the ranks and unsheathed his sword.

"It could have gone better." He said.

Harry sighed and pulled out his own sword as the pike men closed ranks around them. They would be first, breaking their spears against the enemy before the cavalry charged.

Somewhere out there, in that mass of bodies, was Gendry - the boy who had begged and argued his way onto the field to see his weapon work first hand. Harry hoped he lived.

Off to the side a young man raised a horn to his lips, about to signal the beginning of the end.

Ned saw it too, for he leant forward, his grip on his reins tightening. "Two thousand standing against fifteen."

The pike men crouched, getting ready to run.

"It will last a lifetime," Harry replied.

The horn sounded, loud despite its size. Harry flinched, the sound bringing back painful memories that took him by surprise. Now was not the time to lose himself. The pike men started running before the echo faded, their war cries drowning out everything as they charged.

Harry gritted his teeth.

The two lines collided and war cries turned to screams, the lines becoming a jumbled mass of bodies and broken weapons. More than once Harry saw men being picked up on the ends of the Lannisters pikes and being lifted from their feet. Splintered wooden shafts littered the ground.

On his right, Robert bellowed out a cry, his sword lifted in the air glinting in the midday sun. It was all they needed.

As one both sides spurred their horses forward and Harry's world narrowed to the pounding of hooves, the thrumming of his heart in his chest and the ever encompassing red of the enemies' tunics.

They were so far away. Harry blinked and the battle was upon him, his horse surging over the first few soldiers, knocking them out the way and trampling them whether they wore red or not. The enemy met them at the same time, horses rearing, lashing out at each other.

A sword swung for his head in an arc of quicksilver. Harry barely managed to get his own up in time to parry the blow, the shock nearly taking the blade from his hand. He tightened his grip. Battle instincts surging back after centuries of disuse.

He kicked his horse forward and jabbed as he passed the knight. His blade easily cutting through chainmail and tunic to the soft flesh underneath. He could feel it when sword ground against the bone as he angled his thrust upwards.

His opponent let out a scream, his weapon dropping from limp hands as he was pulled from his seat – the horse continuing forward while he was stuck. Harry was close enough to see the whites of his eyes, and the fear and desperation – and then the man was falling to the ground, sliding off Harry's blade and lost under the surging of the foot soldiers.

But one opponent was replaced by twenty. Harry wheeled his horse around, jabbing down at the sea of red that surrounded him – aiming for the chinks around the throat and the eyes. It was never ending. Pikes stabbed up at him, catching him in the shoulder and sides. More than once he was hit with a fatal blow, the blade sliding out and the wound reknitting itself almost immediately. His magic pushed to the limit and totally focused on repairs.

A particular vicious thrust went straight through his heart and lung and straight out his back. He curled over the pike, close enough to the wielder to see the triumph in his eyes. He was drowning, coughing up blood that ran down his chin and throat. And yet he kept breathing. His opponents expression turned to confusion and then shock when Harry pushed himself up and brought his sword in a large overhead swing that hit him in the junction between neck and shoulder and kept going, finally ending somewhere near his hip. The man's mouth opened but he was dead before he hit the ground, dragging Harry down with him.

He choked when he landed, the pike jarring. He could feel his heart struggling to beat around the obstacle, his magic straining to heal. Besides him his horse gave out a shrill scream of pain and reared, a pike protruding from its neck. It lashed out, killing the Lannister, and then staggered.

For one heart stopping moment, Harry thought it was going to land on him, but then it tossed its head and bolted, knocking down anyone in its path.

He pushed himself up, grabbing hold of the metal shaft and yanked at it. The pain was blinding and Harry had to blink a few times to clear his vision as he curled on the floor. Blood poured out his mouth – his lungs expelling everything except air. The ground was a mass of bodies, soft mud and puddles of blood – too saturated to soak up any more. Around him the men had separated into smaller groups of fighting, far enough that he could take a few extra seconds to give him enough time for his heart to heal.

Before he was ready, he staggered to his knees. His sword was lost so he had to find one that would serve until after the battle. A glint caught his eye. It was a sword; half buried under a pile of bodies and covered in mud. He crawled towards it, unable to cast a notice-me-not charm on himself just yet, but praying to magic to hide him for just a bit longer.

It worked. Harry reached the weapon without drawing the attention of anyone. He grunted as he set his shoulder to the body covering it, his feet slipping as he rolled the corpse off the sword.

He was lucky; the blade was one of superior make and balance. He knew this sword.

His eyes flickered over to the body. Its face was covered in mud, hair plastered to its forehead, but there was no mistaking Gendry's blue eyes – or the way they had already begun to frost over in death.

His helmet was missing. Out of everything that was the thought that stuck with Harry as he pushed himself to his feet, as he let out a cry, as he threw himself back into the fray.

It stuck with him when he cut down every man in red that he could see. It stuck with him when the last enemy fell – choosing death rather than surrender. It stuck with him when Ned, his armour battered and his face bloodied, found him panting and still unable to draw a full breath.

It stuck with him when he began to cry.


	20. Chapter 20

For all that happened, the battle was over relatively quickly. They had already begun searching through the dead for weapons and friends. Horses milled over in the quickly assembled pen away from the churned up mess. Harry's own mount was dead – having died from the neck wound sometime during the battle. He supposed he would be given a replacement that had belonged to the enemy.

Slowly, the lines of dead were forming. All two thousand of the enemy had fallen – their red tunics ruined. Out of Robert's men a mere five hundred were gone, through skill or luck or having been accidentally cut down by their own side. Another three hundred or so were too badly wounded to carry on and would be heading back to Riverrun. Whether they made it there alive remained to be seen.

Harry supposed it was a rather successful slaughter.

He sat on the side of his dead horse, picking at the slow healing scabs. His magic was mostly drained at the moment, and being so far away from the weirwoods weren't helping. Not that it would matter. He was still healing, but he'd forgotten how itchy it could get.

"Harry."

He looked up to see Ned making his way towards him, picking his path through the bodies. The men hadn't reached this area yet, and probably wouldn't for a while.

"Ned." Harry looked his friend over. Apart from a few tears, his clothing looked passable – though every inch of him seemed to be streaked in mud and gore. His face almost black with dirt and dried blood. Harry could see a few dents in his armour, but nothing that would require any serious work to fix.

Ned glanced at Harry's makeshift seat and decided against it. "Here," he said, holding out a sword, "I found this."

Curious, Harry reached for it. It wasn't until the grip was in his hand that he recognised it as his own – lost in the battle. He cast an inspecting eye over it. The edge was a little dulled and he would have to completely replace the leather wrapping around the handle, but the balance still held and there wasn't any obvious fractures or dents in the metal.

He rested it across his knee, not wanting to ruin the inside of his scabbard, and watched the men continue to loot the dead.

"I found that blacksmith."

Harry made a noise in the back of his throat.

"He was killed by his own spearhead. It was lodged in his side."

"Ironic."

Ned rubbed his mouth and then looked at his hand in disgust. "He looked a lot like Robert when he was that age. Looks a lot like Robb and Jon, too."

That brought Harry's head up. He opened his mouth to say something and then found he had nothing to say. Eventually he went with, "He wanted to fight."

"Gods damn it, Harry." Ned snapped, "He was barely a man."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then why didn't you stop him?"

Ned glared off to the side.

"He wasn't Robb or Jon, Ned. He was an orphan boy who knew what he wanted and was going to do it, regardless. Besides, it was his choice. He had every right to see what the damage his weapons could work."

There was silence. Harry shifted and grimaced when he felt something grind against his ribs. Pawing at the area found a jagged splinter of wood buried deep into his side. He grunted as he yanked it out, scrutinising the ten inch piece of wood. He hadn't even felt that go in, yet it would have killed him if he was mortal.

Well, better him than Ned. He let it drop to the ground between his feet and ignored the wide eyed look Ned was giving him.

"When are we moving out?"

Ned took a few seconds to compose himself, his gaze darting down to the piece of shaft. "Sometime tomorrow morning I would expect. Robert wants to leave now. He's flush with this victory and wants to take Jaime on whilst moral is high. But even he can see the advantages of resting and repairing our armour and weapons."

Harry nodded. "From what I can remember, Jaime's forces are about a day away. If we're camping the night here, then we should be on our guard. We are in their territory now. They will use any and all advantages they can get."

"You don't think they will fight with honour?"

Harry scoffed. "I think they'll fight to win." He met Ned's gaze squarely. "Honour is all very well and good when you have the advantage. But cunning has its place in the world too, and it's a lot more successful."

"I suppose expecting honour from the Kingslayer would be too much."

"Oh no, Jaime has honour," Harry said, "he just knows when to use it." He shrugged at the look Ned gave him. "He's riding into battle to protect the lives of the woman he loves and his children. How much more honour do you need?"

~*~

Harry was half-right in his prediction.

Their path forward had greatly narrowed, the mountains suddenly closing around them – towering above them with steep inclines – and blocking off all but the midday sun.

Harry was trying to pay attention, but the utter barrenness of the landscape was getting to him, bringing back flashes of memories. The emptiness, the unremitting grey of walking in the shadows of the monoliths surrounding them, the stench of fresh blood and death and the uncomfortable silence that comes with fourteen thousand men all on their guard.

He had thought nothing could drag him back to that place. The battle. Where he, along with Brandon and all the free men of Westeros, had driven back the White Walkers to the far northern wastes. It had been a battle of desperation, rather than of flimsy honour or glory, and fought in the light of a thousand torches and whatever lumos spell Harry could spare.

Scree skidded down the slopes towards the road and Harry flinched.

 _It's not then._ He told himself. _It's summer. There's no snow. No White Walkers._

But he could still see them – figures darting out of the corner of his eye – blending into the rock face whenever he looked in their direction. He had even caused his new horse to panic by bringing out some of his animagus traits. But his sense of smell was overwhelmed by the stench of the army around him, and all he could hear was the sound of them echoing off the slopes.

He felt caught off balance. Unsettled. Spurring his ride forward, he came up alongside Ned who looked on guard, but not completely unnerved.

Ned took one look at him and drew his sword. "Is there someone out there?"

"I…I don't know…" He gritted his teeth at the disbelieving look Ned shot him. "I keep-" something shifted and he jerked his head around, but there was nothing. Nothing but the darkening shadows.

The White Walkers had used a tactic quite like it – hiding just out of the circle of light and picking them off one by one from their…

" _Fuck!_ " Harry swore loudly, unsheathing his sword, "They're on the slopes!"

His voice carried, echoing off the walls of rock. There was a confused pause as the men around them glanced at each other, slowing to a halt and hesitatingly going for their own weapons.

Robert and the men ahead of them wheeled around.

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert demanded as the group glanced up at the slopes, trying to see what Harry was only just catching out of the corner of his eye.

Manwoody sneered, "The boy's delusional. There's no one th-" There was a wet, meaty thud and a choked off gurgle as an arrow speared him through his throat. Manwoody's eyes widened and he raised a hand, pawing at his neck before slumping forward and rolling off the side of his saddle.

The men watched in disbelief as Manwoody twitched out his death throes at their feet.

"They have archers." Ned said, and then wheeled his horse around to face the army trailing behind them who hadn't seen what had happened. " _They have archers on the slopes!_ "

All hell broke loose.


	21. Chapter 21

Harry brought his animagus form as close to the surface without fully changing. His horse, along with the rest of the groups mounts, reared when they caught a whiff of his scent. Harry and Ned managed to slip to the ground before their rides bolted – Lord Tyrell, not so much. He fell with a thump and a wheezed gasp as he winded himself. The rest of them left him there to gain control over himself – their gazes drawn to the top of the slopes, shading their eyes against the glare.

Now that he could see properly, Harry could pick out the odd rock formations that hadn't been rock after all, but rather men lying down and hiding in the shadows.

Harry grabbed Ned's arm and dragged him back into the safety of the mass of soldiers behind them. It was probably a good thing that the horses had gone – they would have been useless in this terrain.

Ned struggled only a little, but Harry had just gotten a boost in strength, and pulled him away. There was no need to single themselves out – it would only lead to an easy death. And besides – more people surrounding them meant more human shields between them and Jaime's men.

Their army was milling, uncertain as to what was happening. Only few had seen Manwoody die or heard Ned's call and the news hadn't spread. They weren't in any kind of formation, nor had they been travelling in any type of battle readiness. Men on horses were dotted about in the mass of bodies and the pikes – what little they had salvaged from the last battle – were being carried mostly in the middle of the group. Completely useless.

It was a brilliant tactic, Harry had to admit. Instead of waiting for Robert to arrive at the front line, Jaime had brought his army to him and in the process had quite literally stolen the high ground.

The sun was past its zenith now, its light brightening the tops of the slopes and throwing the rest of the crag into a semi-permanent gloom. The archers, now that Harry could spot them, were entirely grey – their clothing marbled with different shades and their faces, hair and hands blackened with dirt.

They must have been there the entire time – waiting for Robert's army to get into the most vulnerable position. These weren't knights or warriors – these were trained hunters. Harry suspected that it was from these men that the rest of the country got most of its wild mountain goat from.

On some unseen signal, the men on the slopes stood. There had to be close to five hundred of them. And now that they were standing, Harry could see that some of them were wearing armour under their cloaks. So they weren't all hunters.

Robert's army panicked. The men bunched in closer together, their necks craning to see the enemy and presenting one massive target instead of a bunch of smaller ones.

They didn't get the chance to correct their mistake.

As one, the enemy drew back their bow and fired. The sky darkened.

Harry had a brief moment to wish he'd learnt a spell that would shield him from physical objects, instead of just spells.

"Gods…" Harry heard Ned curse right before he tackled his friend to the ground, covering him with his body.

" _Impedimenta!_ "

Then the arrows landed. Harry could hear the thumps and screams as they buried themselves in the ground and their soldiers. He half expected to feel the sharp burst of pain that would mean he too had been hit, but it never came.

Instead another wave of arrows landed, and another. The archers weren't slowing down or giving them any chance to escape. Eventually though, they ran out of arrows and the pass fell into an eerie quiet.

Harry lifted his head and blinked. Around him in a two metre radius, arrows were floating in the air, caught in his spell. A wave of dizziness overtook him for a moment and the spell died – arrows clattering around them.

As if it were a signal, Ned started to struggle underneath him – pushing himself to his elbows and trying to dislodge Harry from his back. Harry rolled over and off him, staggering to his feet to survey the damage.

All around him were the groans of the injured and dying. Harry could smell them – the stench of terror and death. Everything was just that much sharper – his senses and reaction times better, even though shadows were creeping up on the edge of his vision. Not enough to be a problem, but distracting all the same. The wandless spell had been a step too far, his magic straining enough as it was to accommodate him. He should really push back his animagus form, but looking at the force Jaime had brought to bear on them, he had a feeling that he would need every advantage he could get to keep Ned alive. He doubted he would even be able to apparate in this state – at least not without splinching himself or his companion.

As such, he would have to forgo his usual reckless attacks and start to fight smart. That meant protecting himself from the worst of it.

If he was dealt another mortal blow, he doubted he would be able to stay conscious through it. Having his body shut down in the middle of this battle was not the smart move. For the first time he was worried Ned may not survive.

Harry cursed. He had severely underestimated Jaime – though he shouldn't have, the man was a Lannister after all. It had been centuries since his last war and he had completely forgot the constant drain on his reserves. He had planned to have more time between battles to recuperate.

Hindsight was indeed twenty-twenty.

But a surprising number of men were standing. He watched as a soldier rolled a dead body, pricked with numerous arrows, off of him and stood with his sword at the ready.

_That…would explain it._

It wasn't the first time a man had used a fellow to save himself – nor would it be the last.

There was a groan from behind and Harry glance back to see Robert and Lord Martell pushing themselves up off the ground. Lord Manwoody's body having served its last purpose.

But they didn't have much more time than that to regroup for, with an almighty cry that echoed around them, Jaime's men started to slide their way down the slope. Scree proceeded them, triggering small rock falls that showered down on what was left of Robert's men.

"To me!" Ned cried, gesturing ahead of him to where the pass opened out to a wider space. "Head to the open ground"

The men started to run towards him, trying not to stumble over their fallen comrades as well as keep an eye on the enemy descending from above. It was not meant to be. Jaime's forces met them before they even got halfway there, cutting their group in two.

The front group turned back, choosing to attack the enemy instead of retreating. Harry could see more of them appearing over the edge though, and if they couldn't get free they would end up blocking off their retreat and hemming them in.

It would be almost an exact repeat of the previous battle, except they would be on the losing side.

"Keep running," Harry shouted, grabbing Ned's arm and dragging him towards the gap which was narrowing fast. Ned stumbled after him, trying to keep his feet.

"Harry! We must fight!"

"If we stay we die! Keep running."

They were almost free, Harry could practically smell it. Then the rest of Jaime's forces rode into view – their red tunics making them look drenched in blood. Harry skidded to a stop, pushing Ned behind him as much as possible. He had the briefest glimpse of gold armour before they were lost from view.

"Shit." Jaime was on the front lines. He had thought the man would stay behind and direct his troops rather than fight with them. Now Harry was going to have to look out for him as well.

It was harder than it looked. By the time the thought had crossed his mind there was already a sword swinging for him. Harry got his own blade up in time, catching it on the downswing and using his enhanced strength to push his own swing though, taking off his attackers head as an afterthought.

From then on his life consisted solely of arcing blades, blood and death. He tried to stick close to Ned as much as possible – protecting the man's back. It was a lot harder having to fight whilst he was worrying over dying again. More than once he realised he'd dropped his guard to take a hit, only to scramble and try and make up his defence in time.

He was sloppy. It wasn't a good epiphany.

He still used magic, sometimes it was instinctual, but when he did it was all low-grade spells. Enough to distract and impede, not outright kill. He didn't think he had it in him to do that, not with keeping such tight control on everything else.

The sun had completely disappeared now, throwing them all into a darkening twilight. It made those who had disguised themselves on the slopes that much harder to distinguish. Harry had to push his eyesight to the maximum – a slow burn of magic that made his bones ache. He had no idea how the regular soldiers were managing.

An unfortunate side effect of stretching his animagus form to the limit was that he was beginning to lose control and change. Already he could feel fangs pressing against his tongue, forcing his jaw open in a morbid parody of a smile.

More than once an attacker had hesitated at the sight, allowing Harry to take full advantage of their momentary distraction.

He was panting with exertion and exhilaration. Adrenaline making the wolf in him howl. He felt alive again.

He'd forgotten how good it felt, despite the fact they were losing. And losing they were.

Jaime would take no prisoners. He couldn't afford to. Any weakness would be invitation to the other Houses. One way or another, one of the leaders would be dead at the end of it all, and Jaime had taken every precaution he could to win this thing.

Harry was just starting to get desperate. With every step there was a danger of tripping over a body, his arms ached with every thrust and parry. And with every minute he kept his animagus form as close to the surface as possible, his magic burned and eyesight dimmed.

 _When this is all over,_ he swore to himself, _I'll keep in shape. No more spending years lazing around doing nothing and watching people from a distance._

Harry stumbled, falling to a knee. A sword just barely ruffling the tips of his hair as it passed over his head. He gritted his teeth, trying to find the reserves to stand, to raise his sword. The urge to just give in and change to his wolf form, rip the enemy to pieces and then pass out for a week was hard to overcome. This wasn't over yet.

There was a guttural cry and then someone grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet. The world spun and then righted enough for him to see it was Ned that was helping him.

Harry prayed for his second wind. And then slowly the favour of battle changed. Slowly they began to push Jaime's forces back. The didn't notice at first, but then they started to gain ground, pushing towards the open space they had originally tried to run to, and herding Jaime's forces together.

And then it broke. Suddenly the Lannisters were retreating, returning from where they came. Robert's men gave chase for a while, but they were all exhausted and quickly gave up.

Harry was shaking. Standing through sheer force of will. It had been a long time since he'd done anything so strenuous. But Ned was alive. He'd kept them both alive. He supposed if anything – that was something to be proud of.

_And hey, still conscious. That's something. Just a little longer, then I can let go and collapse. Gods I'm out of shape._

He straightened, feeling his spine pop, and pushed back the wolf. The relief of not having to balance on that knife edge anymore was euphoric – a physical weight lifting from his shoulders.

_Fuck this. I'm not helping clean up._

Instead he was going to go find a nice place, sleep and build up his magic again. He had a feeling he was going to need it.


	22. Chapter 22

Casterly Rock stood ahead, its black stone towers rising majestically into the night sky, lit by numerous torches spanning its walls. They had arrived the day before, following the trail of Jaime's retreat, and set up camp outside the defences. A dozen or so flags depicting the smaller Houses and hedge knights that had chosen to side with Tywin snapped in the breeze.

Harry had slept practically the rest of the journey here, Ned keeping watch, giving his magic time to replenish itself. It would be enough for what he planned to do. This was it, the grand finale. Everything would end here.

His gaze ran over the castles fortifications. Some of them had signs of being hastily built, but the majority of them were solid. It seemed Tywin had been preparing for something like this for a long time. Harry didn't know whether it was from Robert's reign, or the mad king's.

His gaze skipped along to survey Robert's men. There were few campfires this time and no tents. Most choosing to sharpen their weapons rather than chatter amongst themselves. For the first time they were beginning to look battered. They had suffered heavy losses during that last skirmish, and were now only boasting just over half of their original force.

It would definitely make things easier. At least in the way of a distraction.

He needed time to get in and help the Lannisters escape somehow. He had enough magic now to apparate, the problem being that he'd never set foot in Casterly Rock, so he had no idea where he was going. The top of the wall was a possibility, but they were crawling with archers and soldiers keeping a look out and Harry, despite his age, had not learnt to apparate silently.

He needed to find a less well defended spot, so when he did appear he wouldn't alert everyone to him. His invisibility cloak would help, giving him just the right amount of surprise needed to silence the guards before they could sound the alarm.

He should go now though. Robert planned to attack on the morrow, meaning Ned was reasonably safe until then. He'd find a way in, get them out, and then get back in enough time to protect Ned. Probably hide them away in Lannisport until they could find a smuggler ship that could evade the Greyjoy's, and then have them taken around the bottom of the country and across the narrow sea to Braavos to live out a life in exile.

He was walking along the line of Robert's men, his gaze darting across Casterly Rock, trying to find that one perfect place, when a strong hand gripped his shoulder making him yelp.

It was Ned. He looked tired and worn, but he was still breathing. Harry resisted sighing and prepared to put his search on hold for a little while.

"Ned," he acknowledged.

Ned's gaze followed the path that his own had just taken. "Their defences are sturdy."

Harry hummed.

"Though I see a few that could be dismantled with a little effort."

"I don't think they expected such a large force to sequester themselves outside their home. I'm beginning to suspect that they've severely underestimated the Dornish ability to hold a grudge."

"It's the Clegane's they have issue with."

Harry gestured to the flags, "And yet I see their banner right there, blowing in the breeze."

Ned fell silent, watching the banners snap back and forth. Eventually he turned to face Harry, finally getting down to the real conversation. "Robert thinks this last push will be the hardest, especially with the numbers we have right now. Casterly Rock was built to be a fortress against the raiders of the Iron Islands."

"So we end up sitting around for a few months – starve them out. It's no hardship."

Ned scowled. "Half our original force is gone."

Harry shrugged. "War. It tends to happen."

"Did you know Jaime's men were going to attack?"

Harry hesitated. "Did I know they were going to attack at that moment? No." He answered carefully, "Did I suspect they would meet us before we arrived at their last known location? Yes. Though I thought they would wait until the next pass – it has better coverage."

Ned grabbed his arm and dragged him away from prying ears. Harry resisted waving cheerfully at the wide eyed looks the men were giving them as they passed. Who even knew what they were thinking was happening.

They ended up heading back towards the path. Ned dragged him around the corner, cutting off his view of Casterly Rock. It was enough that the sounds of the encampment were hardly noticeable. Their conversation would not be overheard.

Ned looked serious. "Are you sabotaging us?" he hissed at Harry.

"There's a difference," Harry replied, "between actively sabotaging something, and not doing a thing to stop people's mistakes."

Ned looked stricken. Harry felt sorry for him.

"I'm sorry, Ned." He said, "I really am. But you keep working under the misapprehension that I'm fighting this war with you. I'm not. I'm here to keep you alive, and to hopefully keep the Lannisters alive. If I could, I would have them win."

"But… _why?_ "

"I made a promise a long time ago. And I'm trying to keep that promise."

Ned leant back, his gaze appraising. "You're planning something."

Harry smiled. "When am I not?"

"You're hoping to get them out before we attack, aren't you? Get them away to safety somewhere."

"They should have kept running. It might never have come to this. I left them hoping they would and hoping that you could convince Robert to decree banishment, not death. But he didn't and I couldn't force his mind to change when he had already been so vocal without arousing suspicion, and now we're here."

"So you're going to let us wait, laying siege to a castle that has no Lord whilst they escape into the night."

"Laying siege is a lot less dangerous than having you charging off into battle. And don't give me that look; I know that when Robert calls, you will be right there by his side."

"It is my duty as his Hand and his friend to stand next to him. If that means charging a defended fortress then so be it. If that means giving him my life, then so be it. You think you are the only one to have sworn oaths, Harry. But you aren't. I swore oaths too, and I will keep my word. I will fight with my king and assure that he wins."

"My way, everyone lives." Harry's voice cracked on the last word. He flinched and squared his shoulders, staring Ned down.

Ned looked at him sadly. He let out a soft sigh and reached for him, gathering him close and hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry, Harry." He murmured, "But not this time."

"Ned…?"

Ned tightened his grip, effectively pinning Harry's arms to his side. "I know you, Harry. And now Robert knows you too. It wasn't hard to convince him."

"I don't understand what you're trying to say."

"This time, we attack first."

Harry tensed.

Ned held him tighter.

"It's already started."

At first Harry didn't understand. Then a massive explosion made the ground shake and threw green light against the rock walls.

"This time, I'm the distraction."

Harry struggled against Ned's grip, resorting to giving him a mild static shock to get him to let go. He ran around the corner and skidded to a halt. Robert's army was silent – no battle cries or screams. The faint sounds that Harry had thought belonged to the encampment had actually been coming from Casterly Rock, which explained why he hadn't been alerted to a massive change in volume.

And Casterly Rock…Casterly Rock was burning – the fortifications meaning nothing to the magical fire that burnt killing curse green. It couldn't burn through the rock, but the barricaded wooden front gate was fair game.

"Wildfire…" Harry breathed, "you used wildfire from the Alchemist's guild in Kings Landing."

"You knew Robert had talks with them."

Harry turned on him, "I didn't think you had any! I didn't think you'd use it! What have you _done?_ "

Behind them, someone started to scream. There was a great cracking noise as the wood started to split in the heat and then, with an almighty groan, they began to tip forward, the metal of their hinges having melted to slag.

They landed with an almighty boom. Wildfire still licked around their sides coming from underneath, just as it licked at the stone archway that was left.

But it was enough for Robert. With a great cry he spurred his horse forward, jumping over the small tongues of fire and entering the keep.

"No…" Harry breathed. "I haven't even gotten them to-" He cut himself off and, for the first time reached for his wand first, rather than his sword.

 _It's okay._ He told himself, _It's okay. I planned to use magic here anyway. This is why. Well, not this-_

"Fuck!" He picked a random spot along the top of the wall and apparated, feeling Ned's hand grip him at the very last second.

They landed in a heap, startling two archers that had been firing down on the invaders. They both turned and Harry jabbed his wand, slashing at them, and knocking them both off the ramparts. Up here the screaming was a lot louder and it had been joined by the sound of shouting, clashing metal and the crackle of flames. Everything was green.

"I had a plan!" Harry spat, kicking Ned off him and standing. "Why couldn't you have just done what I wanted?"

"You were using us. Using _me_."

"It was all going to be fine! I just wanted you safe! I made a mistake, okay? I was having a bad day and started this whole thing off and I've been scrambling to put it right ever since! Why couldn't you have just let me put it right? I'm tired of people dying!" His magic was bubbling under the surface of his skin, fuelled by his anger. The breeze picked up into a wind, making the flames of the wildfire billow, the heat blistering.

"You sacrificed thousands of men's lives!" Ned shouted, drawing his sword as their argument drew the attention of the few Lannister guardsmen who had not abandoned the top of the wall.

" _They. Don't. Matter!_ " They two of them span in perfect tandem, Harry blasting away the arrows while Ned ran a man through.

"Of course they matter! Everyone matters!"

Tears burned in Harry's eyes he was so furious. "No. _You_ matter. _You_ matter because you keep coming back! _You_ matter because you've stayed with me for six thousand years! I gave you leave to use the Griffindor emblem and you turned it into something great! You became a hero and you never forgot me! _You_ are my _friend!_ "

The wind started to howl, flames leaping up and twisting into shapes that stayed just out of understanding.

" _You_ matter because you keep coming back!" A tear dripped down his cheek – one of anger, rather than self-pity. "Do you want to know," Harry spat, "just how much _they_ matter?"

Ned took a step back, raising his sword.

"Then I'll fucking _show_ you."

The wildfire exploded. Harry could feel the side of his face burning as it leapt into the air. Wings unfurled and beat, lifting a dragon made solely of living flame high into the air. The sounds of the battle dimmed as the soldiers looked up at the sight.

Distantly, he could feel his magic draining at an alarming pace. But he managed to keep control, his whole body shaking with the strain of mixing wildfire with fiendfyre.

"I would have killed Robert," Harry said calmly, regaining Ned's horrified attention, "I would have killed him and ended this. But I knew that if anything happened to him, even in battle, you would assume I had a hand in it. So I stayed my blade. I stayed my magic. Because I don't want to lose you. I want you to choose to return to me when you die. But that's it. That's the limit. Because if it comes down to it – if it comes down to Robert or the Lannisters – then I will choose them. Because whilst he is your friend, _they_ are _family_."

The dragon reached its zenith and, with a screaming roar of flames, descended on the men below.

"And you should know what I would do for family."


	23. Chapter 23

**Be warned: This chapter is just an author note. Please Read.**

A number of you have been irritated with Harry, and the choices he's made. I may have accidentally muddied the water – so I'm going to try and clear it up here.

Harry is human. And, it seems, every time he has a decision to make he makes the wrong one. He's bitter, lonely and a little bit suicidal. He does care, but he cares in his own way – just as he loves. He's lived so long that human's lives have ceased to have real meaning – after all, they get reincarnated anyway.

And he has a little bit of a god-complex.

I realise these things make him an unlikeable protagonist. He was supposed to be unlikeable. So, although it was a great writing experiment, I am never going to be writing a protagonist like him again. I'm not cut out for it.

Unfortunately, an unexpected dramatic development was my being cut down by the Norovirus that's going around. So I'm not going to be updating anytime soon.

I would just like to thank you for reading this far and apologise for leaving you with only the last chapter. It doesn't paint Harry (or, I suppose, the direction of the story) in a very good light. So, if you're wondering – yes, the other characters have reached their limit with Harry, too. And yes, Harry is about to get a short, sharp lesson in how much of a horrible person he's become.

Again, thanks for reading and I hope you have a happy holiday.

000

An overview so far (I hope this clears it up):

Winterfell  
HARRY: I am drunk and having a bad day so I'm going to spread it around. Like Herpes.  
ROBERT: *Rage*  
LANNISTERS: *Flee*  
HARRY: I regret this immediately.

HARRY: So I messed up. I'm gonna go make sure they get home okay. Convince Robert not to go to war. War is not in season. Banishment is the new black.  
NED: Like Benjen?  
HARRY: Not cool.

Lord Halloway's Town  
HARRY: So they got home okay. I am relieved. Now they will flee to safety and we can all go home.  
NED: You left them alive? Aaaaawkwaaaard…  
HARRY: I made a promise. Why are you making that face?  
NED: We're going to war. Robert's already sent out the invitations with his Ravens of Death.  
HARRY: You had one job, Ned!

Kings Landing  
HARRY: Are you sure you don't want to banish them?  
ROBERT: War!  
HARRY: …I'm going to have to sort this myself, aren't I?  
ROBERT: We'll head to Riverrun.  
HARRY: Well…seeing as you're heading that way anyway…

Road  
HARRY: *dies* LOL JK! Don't fuck with Ned, Bitch.  
MANWOODY: Kill it with fire!

Riverrun  
HARRY: So I see you received Robert's Raven of Death invitation. Please tell me that the Greyjoy's were accidentally missed off the list.  
TULLY: Greyjoy RSVP'd!  
HARRY: For the love of- At least tell me the Lannisters snuck away.  
TULLY: Nope! They're still at home.  
HARRY: *facepalm*

First Battle  
HARRY: *stab stab dies* I underestimated how much energy it took to heal. Battle experience from eight thousand years ago isn't the same thing as eight thousand years of battle experience. I'll need to save my energy to protect Ned and the Lannisters. Because of promises.  
NED: You die a lot. Also, I'm going to be on the front lines. Lots of honour there. And death.  
HARRY: I regret my life choices.

Ambush  
HARRY: This is giving me weird flashbacks.  
LANNISTER ARMY: *ambush*  
HARRY: Run away!  
NED: Fighting!  
ROBERTS ARMY: *dies*  
HARRY: Oh. Yeah. Watch out for that, guys. Oh, no. Did half of you die? How will you win now?

Casterly Rock  
NED: Robert thinks that we might not have enough men.  
HARRY: Shame. I guess you'll just have to wait, and while you do I'll sneak out the Lannisters and then I'll come back and we'll have a tea party for three months. See? Nice and safe.  
CASTERLY ROCK: *explodes*  
NED: Surprise!  
HARRY: I hate you right now.


End file.
